The Walking Dead Pipeline
by M.D. Owen
Summary: Glenn hates keeping a journal, but the walking dead kinda changes everything. Fighting walkers by day, repairing RV by night.
1. Chapter 1

_I punched this out because I've been disgruntled working on my other stories, and the Walking Dead provides something different, and very simple for me. While, yes, this is a scene-by-scene depiction, there are original scenes that the show never explored, and original characters, most of them Glenn's family and friends from his pre-walker life.  
_

_Spoilers abound, of course. Enjoy._

* * *

My last customer was a lady who didn't have a change for a hundred but said she could pay for the pizza in other ways. I was clueless for about a moment before she screamed at me and pushed me to the ground. I might have been turned on by it all, but some guy with a good chunk ripped out of his face chewed on her like he was at a buffet. Why was he eating her?! I had a perfectly good Pan Lovers pizza in my hands! Or on the ground covered in dirt and, now, blood and pieces of flesh. Yuck!

And I thought the time I delivered to a mafia meeting behind the bingo hall was the most weird. Those slick guys in their black suits intimidated me. I hoped the cashier back at the store had their twenty pizzas right, or I was fish food; then I remembered who the cashier on duty was: Emily Bodunker, and I obliterated her character on World of Warcraft and she's been out to get me ever since. It was a good idea to grab my money and jet, even forgetting the tip, but a robust midget guarded the entrance. Three of the pizzas didn't have extra cheese, and I was a dead man. My hero came in the form of a sting operation that hit the wrong place, and I hid in the kitchen cabinet texting back and forth to my mom because I forgot to take the dog out and one of my sisters tripped over a toy and plunged into the liquid-y feces of a sick pooch. I didn't want to go home and, instead, played a game on Facebook.

So, yeah. The guy eating the woman's face blew that one out of the water. I ran until I almost puked my insides out. I wanted to call my sisters and mother but I dropped my phone, and by the time I realized that, a little boy with yellow eyes gnarled at me and I tripped over his dog and smacked my elbow on the curb. I remembered that kid. His dad trimmed our yard occasionally, and he loved his PS2. I gave him a game for last year's Christmas. As he raced towards me, growling and clawing the air, I lost my voice and all sense of reasoning. Defending myself was number one. I didn't know what kind of funky dimension the Earth just moved in, but it was time to get serious.

Kicking that kid as hard and fast as I could and then seeing his poor body collide into an oncoming vehicle was the hardest thing I had to do at that point. I wish it was that easy now, as horrible as that sounds.

I kept a journal when I was eight because Miss Johnson deemed it important to read my inner thoughts. "Now, Glenn," her voice crawled with mild annoyance at my drawing of a porcupine wearing a sombrero, "use your time wisely and invest in something that you can go back and read in the future. It will help you make thoughtful decisions." I went back to drawing another porcupine, and when I was forced to write, I pretended I was Pierre the Porcupine going to the ancient ruins in Mexico.

Miss Johnson had a lazy eye and a new pimple on her face every week and I could tell she despised my lack of perception, but her words never rang more true than right now. I never made it back home to my mom and sisters and if only midgets in suits and Facebook drama were the least of my problems.

The old guy asked me what I'm scribbling in here, and I nodded and looked out the window of his RV. Interacting with strangers, I'm not good at that. I think his name is Dale, and he's nice, especially when I clogged up his toilet yesterday. My stomach has been all kinds of twisted chaos. Rings true about the state of things, too.

I feel dumb about writing all of this stuff down, but when things get better, and they will, I'll be able to look back and see how crappy it all got. Then, nothing else will seem as bad.


	2. Chapter 2

_My intention is to hit every episode and give Glenn's perspective. To accomplish this, I had to set up everything in this chapter at the camp, blindly. I made up names for the other campers. Consider this chapter's events happening during the "Days Gone Bye", 1st episode of the series. Later in here, Glenn makes mistakes because he can't see to write so it's intentional; I totally didn't get sidetracked watching the episodes while writing this.  
_

_EDIT: __ (Thanks to the reviewer, MJ, for telling me Morales' kids' names. Miranda is his wife, but there was another dark-skinned woman in the camp and that's who I named Olivia, just to clear up any confusion.)_  


* * *

I can't remember how I hitched a ride with Dale and the RV squad. My head spun like a bottle rocket for days and I saw through a thin film of fog for a majority of it.

I don't get it. I don't get any of this.

Was this the Rapture? Biological warfare? I read online that several terrorist groups from different nations in the Middle East, South America, and some lonely island in the Atlantic, or maybe the Phillipines, were naturally ticked at the rest of the world, fussing like toddlers over toys, screaming and throwing fists on the floor, and they threatened to dump bacteria on us. I hate politics. And caterpillars. My uncle took me fishing at a lake when I was ten, and a swarm of those squishy bugs jumped off the trees and attacked me. I swear! He keeps correcting me at family gatherings saying that it was a couple of caterpillars, but that's not how I see it. They crawled in my ears and I lost my hearing for two days. Best thing about it was not hearing my mom grump about the house and then she only fed me soup like my hearing would magically return because I gurgled soup.

Yeah... caterpillars in my ears. Almost as dumb as the dead coming back to life, right? My mother's soup would be tasty right about now instead of the bland, muddy liquid I'm eating for lunch. It was my own concoction since bothering people about food isn't my specialty. I hate drive thrus and the cashiers call me 'ma'am' through the speaker. Yeah, okay, so I always go inside to prove how manly I am. I guess that's what I'm trying to prove now as I sit on top of an RV under this red and white umbrella, all buck style looking over my territory. It's too hot up here, but my soup has gone cold and I like hot soup, even in the summer. That sucker will boil in this Georgia heat.

Dale, the old guy, just asked me to fetch water for the laundry tomorrow and said he would keep an eye on my soup because the kids here enjoy pulling pranks on the only Asian guy. Running errands is definitely my gold cup, and my 'thang', if you will. The women of the camp pinch my cheeks and say I'm the son they never had and that I'm the most handsome Oriental they've ever seen. Well, they don't exactly say that last part but I can see it on their faces, especially Olivia, the Hispanic chick with a bum leg whose grandmother took on the geeks and saved Olivia's life. That's what I call this walking dead phenomenon because assigning titles and cool phrases isn't my thing either.

The impatient old guy tapped me on the head with the butt of his rifle. I'll be back later, more than likely at dark and writing this by the fire while everybody sits moody and on their hands. I can't blame them.

* * *

I forgot to journal when I came back. Sorry. One of the nice kids, Eliza, needed help with her math work, and it was the prime opportunity to ask for another sleeping bag. She has Care Bears on the extra bag, but that doesn't bother me. I think her brother, Louis, pissed in my last one because a storm scared him one night and he went in the first tent he saw, which was mine oh joy of joys, and fell asleep. I forgave him but I still needed a dry bag and I have this fear of getting diseases. I mean, he's a kid, I know; I still don't know where he's been.

Geez, I can barely see to write with this campfire light so forgive any mstakes. I'm learnng everybodys names: there's Laurie, or it can be spilled Lori maybe, her kid Carl; Dale, of course, Shane, who is a cop and our unoffical leader, two country boys named Merle and Daryl Dixon that ask me all kinds of quetions about living in China and I say that the rice is good even though I was born and raised in America and there are other Asian countries other than China. Why bother explaining anything; Andrea and her younger sister Amy and they're really nice and more of the cultured ones here; then I think there's another country guy named Jim Bob and a pretty black lady, Jacky, or Jackie? T-Dog is a big black man, and he's really cool. I don't quite feel like an outsder with him here and not just because he's a minority too. He's quiet, like me except when you tick him off and Merle does a good job at that. When I get mad, I post on Facebook and play a video game. Here, I can't do either so I take it out on bugs. I hate confrontations.

Okay, I can see a little better now; I can count on Ed, a stubborn disgruntled guy, to defy everyone's orders and make the fire go higher. He doesn't like me; he doesn't like anyone, and I can tell he doesn't care for Carol, his wife, and barely for their daughter, Sophia. Sweet little Sophia. She stays with her mom mostly, but I make faces at her and get her to smile. She reminds me of my younger sister, except with less back-hands. Much less. Morales is a Hispanic guy and has his wife, Miranda, and two kids here, the ones I wrote about earlier: Eliza and Louis. When those kids and Carl get together, they're one sneaky tiny army. I'm cool with it because it keeps me on my toes and helps me forget that things are downright shitty. If memory serves me right, the rest of the group: Olivia, another husband and wife, an old guy who can't eat beans and gasses everyone when he does, and Tank, who is obsessed with hunting bears but is afraid of the geeks and birds.

We have an interesting dynamic here. Everybody can be uptight and loud, and I get that, but I have to leave sometimes. Recently I've been volunteering to scope Atlanta's streets and pick up supplies. It's kinda fun and a little lonely without all the jabbering from the crew and hearing only moans and shuffling from the geeks on the street. I've given some of them names because they're always around the same places everytime I go back: Cheetah, Dumbo, Charging Charlie, Frank Rabonwitz, and Lucille Ball. Of course I'm at a great distance and I can't look at them directly in the faces because of all the blood and guts. Blegh! Is that how you would spell it? Bleugh? Yuck!

Shane and Dale informed me just now that I'm going with Morales, Andrea, Jackie, and T-Dog into Atlanta tomorrow. I'm not sure about this? And now Merle is screaming that he wants to go, too. Thankfully, Daryl is out in the woods or it would be hell on earth on the trip there and back. I'd rather see Charging Charlie again. You never know who you'll meet in the big city.


	3. Chapter 3

_This chapter happens near the end of "Days Gone Bye". Lots of Glenn goodness coming your way!_

* * *

Here's another thing I'm not good at: hitting on women, and thank goodness I'm not the only one in this group who can't sweet talk anything. Merle Dixon couldn't woo a limb-less, depressed prostitute if he tried. I wouldn't say that to his face because I like my face and where all the parts are located so this journal serves a purpose now. Hope he doesn't read it.

That day in Atlanta with Morales, Andrea, Jackie, T-Dog, and Mighty Merle was an absolute mess. It started out okay until Merle head-butted Lucille Ball and gutted Frank. I couldn't watch. I couldn't. Can I write a sad smiley here? :(. There.

We hunkered in a department store that had an alleyway connected to another building. Merle hit on Andrea a lot, and Jackie hissed retorts at him. T-Dog and Morales dressed in black sports wear, Merle opened his mouth again, and the room erupted in arguments. I got out of there while nobody was looking. Dangerous, but I needed to get the job done and they were getting in the way. Every geek down five blocks could probably hear them. I had my walkie and wouldn't go too far. Needed some air, too.

When I stepped on the roof, something peculiar was happening on the street. Atlanta is full of geeks, and I've been there enough times to know their patterns. In the spot of a moment, I saw a horse collapse in the street. They were stumbling and gathering in that one spot, near a tank, all digging into the squealing animal. It was lunchtime, all right. My stomach might have growled at that prospect, but I remembered that they ate human flesh and were having a buffet of horse. Ew.

My eyes squinted at one of the geeks fumbling and almost seizing in the street. I knew that wasn't geek behavior! It was a survivor for damn sure! Hell yeah! But why was he crawling towards the tank? Oh no, I said, oh noooo! He was a total dumbass for going in the tank. What a loser! Total newbie. He had geeks all around him, thumping and clawing to get inside and tear into him.

I couldn't leave the guy. Non-ravenous, living humans are a rare thing these days, too, so I glided down to the alleyway, safe and quiet from trouble, and got on the walkie, hoping I would reach this clueless sport. I wish it would have been as easy as flicking the switch and acting all heroic, but I fumbled with the frequencies a bit. A slick superman, I am not.

Finally, I reached him: "Hey, you. Dumbass," I teased, "Yeah, you in the tank. Are you cozy in there?"

For his sake, he answered and the first glance of hope was restored.


	4. Chapter 4

_From season 1, episode 2, "Guts". And my husband abruptly pointed out to me that Glenn's car was not a Mustang but a Camaro so I fixed it. Ahem. Okay.  
_

* * *

Yesterday, geek guts were smeared all over me, and the smell was horrendous, like a truckload of alley cats and my mom's lasagna compacted in a garbage truck at the back of a meat plant. Worse than that, even. Oh man. I'm still nauseous and the putrid smell is burned into my nostrils. Maybe I'll get used to all of this rotting flesh smell-o-rama, and I sort of want to. It's almost imperative that I do or carry a bucket on my hip so I can retch on the go.

Okay, so I was covered in geek guts and what did I think about? Getting laid. Why? Puppies and kittens weren't cutting it. My only problem: she was a geek rocker chic in a french maid outfit and growled, "Fluff your pillows" to me over and over. It's stupid of me to record such a personal thing, but it seems like we should all put our dirty laundry out there. Less chance of being injured or killed, I think! Say, for instance: I'm being chased by geeks in french maid outfits. Now, Dale will know my weakness and he'll make sure I'm okay. Wouldn't want to be cornered by those suckers!

... I'm a glass half full kind of person. A guy's gotta find some chuckles in a terrible situation, right?

Speaking of a terrible situation: a cop named Rick Grimes locked himself in a tank surrounded by geeks, or walkers whichever you prefer, ready to split him open and suck out his insides. I watched the poor bastard dig himself deeper and deeper into a hole, and I couldn't let it go. I was alone and had the perfect opportunity to help him. Across the walkie, he gave the impression of a guy who expected me to have all the answers, and I only had one: make a run for it.

"That's it? Make a run for it?" His voice lacked confidence in me. I'm not a magic eight ball, but I had eyes and made a plan for him: get your bullets ready, make them count, run from the right side of the tank, and meet me at fifty yards in an alley. He wanted to grab a duffel bag on the street, but Charging Charlie and his groupies were guarding it; they didn't get to chow down on the horse. Maybe the walkers have cliques, too. I didn't have time to care or point at them and laugh.

In his shining Clint Eastwood glory, Rick Grimes magnificently shot several walkers... and almost shot me turning down our alley. "Not dead!" I shouted and sort of wiggled my hands in the air. We booked to it a fire escape, and he wanted to keep shooting but he had NO chance with a shit ton of walkers flocking towards us! I admit: I thought of kicking him in the face and dropping him into the grinder if the worst happened, but we made it to the top and exchanged names. I still called him a dumbass regardless that he was a cop. What was he going to do? Arrest me? I guess he could have pushed me into the walker pit. I'm glad he didn't.

Even though Charging Charlie didn't get to munch on the horse, he did try to climb the freaking ladder! Sayonara, Charlie! We had no choice but to continue climbing up the building. Good thing I'm not afraid of heights. When I was eight, a childhood bully challenged me to stay on my roof on a chilly October night and I beat him! I might have whimpered and shivered but he didn't have to know. I gained the upper hand by remembering the goofy legend of the Pogo Stick Coyotes that scared him many times so I howled all night and frightened him enough to go back in the house. Booyah.

Rick and I made small, fast talk as we hunkered into the building and raced back to my team. They weren't too happy about Rick's gun popping off in the alley. Mostly Andrea was ticked, and I had NEVER seen her so angry. It scared the crap out of me. That's almost silly to read, I'm sure, since the dead are returning, but we've managed to stay out of trouble for a while and now it blew up in our faces. Tension sky-rocketed, and Morales pretty much gave the scoop to Rick about scavenging quietly while showing him what happens when you don't: walkers tearing down the doors. As Andrea said, "You just rang the dinner bell."

And then Merle happened.

I guess Rick's gun got Merle all excited and he wanted to join the firing range. I trailed behind everyone cursing the very muddy waters Merle crawled from all the way to the top. The optimistic part of me wishes I could say the intervention went smoothly, but it went as south as Merle's accent. He wasn't giving up his gun or his fun time. He called Morales a taco bender, the N word at T-Dog, and I might have been called Fried Rice if I had spoken up but dealing with my sisters and mother taught me when to open and shut my mouth. And I cued Rick not to jump in either. The best way to handle Merle is to walk away. I would have left him on that damn roof and drove back to the camp!

...I probably would have chickened out on that, too.

It was pretty cool of Rick to open up some whoop-ass on Merle and handcuffed Merle to a pipe on that scorching roof. That shut the redneck up. And he used my arresting line, too! I thought of it first. Lame.

The next half of this tale goes into All Guts-No Glory, and I'm well aware that I wrote the phrase wrong but I'll get to that part. Oh, man.

First, we needed a ride out of that death trap of a city. Morales and I tried the sewer tunnel but that wasn't a bright idea since we ran into a walker dining on a fat juicy rat. Also, I fully meant what I said to the others that things go to shit when everybody tags along for scavenging. Look at this mess! You can read it! People get too emotional and it goes down the sinker. Geez...

Plan A didn't work, obviously. We hustled back to the roof and took some time to come up with Plan B. I called it Plan Z because it was the last thing I ever wanted to do! Walkers are drawn to us lives ones or fresh meat, or whatever they collectively think of us as, by sight, sound, and smell. We needed a diversion, like how lucky Rick got with the horse (unlucky for the horse though...). One moment I was on the roof with a walkie talkie and the next, I was suiting up for the "Plan Z": everyone, minus Mighty Merle, took turns chopping up a walker, or actually, we had a visitation with Wayne Dunlap. I get what Rick was trying to do, but it didn't make chopping the guy up any easier. I wussied out and barfed in the corner. I mean seriously, I puked at school one time because I touched a booger under the desk. My stomach is very sensitive.

And then, I had to dress in the raunchy, blood-twisted final performance of the evening: acting like a walker, stumbling through the masses, and getting to the service truck. That was the closest I ever got to one of "my geeks": Charging Charlie and Dumbo, and they don't look any better up close. I think Dumbo was on to me; his bloodshot eyes were locked and loaded. My best walker impression was Rick's worst; I was never good at theater.

Did Plan Z work? Fine and dandy - until it effin' rained! Then we hauled ass to the truck with all of the street block galloping after us! I get nervous NOW thinking back to it. The walkers even CLIMBED the fence; good ol' Charging Charlie was at it again. He must have been promoted to herd leader.

This has a somewhat cool ending. We found our distraction: a sweet ass Camaro with an alarm blaring into forever, and guess who got to drive it?! It sure wasn't Merle.

And in all of the frenzy, we forgot Merle on the roof, too. I'm told that we're going back this morning for him. I still need to eat breakfast and wash my hat. And my kickass ride!


	5. Chapter 5

_Season 1, episode 3 "Tell it to the Frogs"_

_After this chapter, technically Glenn shouldn't have time to write in his journal since he was kidnapped by the Vatos and then the camp is overrun. I'll find a way around it. The Vatos seem nice enough to let him update his journal, hehe._

* * *

On second and third thoughts, I feel bad that we left Merle on the roof. Out in the sun, cooking and probably cursing our names, like we did to him, and I wouldn't blame him; I'd curse my name too. He's also up there with all of those hungry walkers.

Damn... that sucks.

Now, about my ride. Morales corrected me later that it's a Charger, not a Mustang so I corrected it in the last entry. I don't know the difference. Growing up, I didn't play with cars because my sisters and I played with stuffed animals. We gave them names and occupations. That must be why I gave cute aliases to the walkers/geeks. You will see me mention my sisters a lot. And, really, I miss them very much...

We drove back to the camp; well, I raced back to the camp and Rick drove too slow, like Sunday driving slow. Of course he had a service truck and other passengers, and I took full advantage of being alone and having the time of my life. I would have blasted some Dragonforce or AC/DC but the few cds in the car had Britney Spears and Kenny G. Can't have my man card revoked.

Did I mention I didn't know how to turn off the car alarm? When I cruised into the camp, the group screamed at me, and the funny thing was I could STILL hear them over the alarm. Geez. I fumbled around the dash board and the console, even the back seat like it would magically be there.

Shane called me stupid. I haven't been called that since last week. Dale had my back though; I can count on him when things are hairy! But he told me to think things through next time. All I could spit out was a "Sorry. Got a cool car." Nobody argued or spoke a peep so I guess they agreed. Or thought I was still stupid.

The Ferenc truck pulled in, and I was very happy everyone reunited with their loved ones. Amy was terrified over Andrea's safety, and Morales' kids and wife practically bounced into his arms. The coolest thing ever was Rick finding Lori and Carl, his wife and son, in our camp. They were here with us the whole time! If Lori mentioned Rick's name before, it didn't dawn on me. When we first banded together, we introduced ourselves by first names only. I thought we would go with, "Redneck 1" and "2", "RV Leader", "Black Guy", "Asian squirt", and so forth. That's mean of me, but seriously, it was hard for me to get close to anyone. As we lived in our tents and cooked and ate together, things felt 'normal' to me. I trifled with the idea of changing my name to something boss, but I blurted 'Glenn' before I knew it. Bad habit. Oh, well.

We sat around the campfire a few minutes ago, and Rick explained how he came out of a coma, disoriented and alone. At least I wasn't alone; I've never been alone against my free will, and I can't imagine how it feels. I couldn't speak as I listened to him. The thunder rumbling in the distance rolled in my ears with his tale. Ominous, chilling. I thought of something more upbeat like how s'mores would have been great right then or singing campfire songs. No one would have agreed with me, not even the kids.

I need to get on record Dale's glorious way of saying the right thing at the right time. I hope I'm that cool when I'm old. I don't know what he meant when he repeated "words falling short" after Rick told Shane how grateful he was taking care of his family. I'll chew on this until my teeth fall out. Sarcasm and wit escapes me a LOT.

Eventually Merle's name and his rooftop prison dropped among us again. T-Dog and Rick wanted to take all the blame, and Dale said Daryl Dixon, Merle's brother, won't take the news so lightly. I didn't vote myself in for sure! Daryl's a frenzied bazooka and nobody wants to face him. T offered to do it, and I stopped him dead in his tracks and remarked the news would be better coming from a white guy. If T and I approached Daryl, an arrow from his crossbow would meet our eyeballs after we said, "We're sorry but your brother was left on the roof in Atlanta and -" THWACK! Supper for the walkers.

* * *

Damn, damn, DAMN! Dale popped in my tent and said they're tearing down the Charge for parts tomorrow. My baby, noooooooo! Then he laughed at me for snuggling in a Care Bears bag, and I told him to laugh it up and enjoy dissecting my car.

This bag is comfortable and pee-free.

* * *

They chopped-shopped the Charger before the sun came over the mountain. I watched helplessly and wished I could grab a wrench and fight them off. Rick said we could steal another car one day. Bet it'll be a rust bucket lemon butt of a car.

Rick and Shane confronted Daryl just now, and like Dale said, it didn't go over well with Daryl at all. Actually I'm surprised he didn't spew out more vulgar words and name-calling. It's safe to say Daryl is the nicer of the two Dixons, but that's comparing a hungry tiger to a normal tiger.

Daryl threw a bundle of dead squirrels at somebody. I was waiting for that one.

Rick and Daryl are going back to Atlanta for Merle. I really don't want to go back. Hope he doesn't ask me. I'll pretend to look at the engine and know what I'm doing.

* * *

I'm trying to keep my curse words down in this journal in case Sophia or Carl pick it up and read it, but mother-effin'-hell! Rick asked me to go! And like a big sucker, I groaned yes. The entourage this time is me, Rick, T-Dawg, and Daryl. Backing up this truck is a pain in the foot, MY foot because stupid wires are hanging down and I got tangled in them. I feel like this trip is on a highway to walker hell, and then Iiii~~~~~

Daryl blowed the horn and made me lose my train of thought and broke my pencil. I hate this trip already!


	6. Chapter 6

_From the end of Season 1, episode 3, "Tell it to the Frogs" through midway of episode 4, "Vatos"._

* * *

what 20 year old keeps a stupid diary? i always knew you were a little girl on the inside, chinaboy. i don't appreciate you talking trash about my brother either! And you can't driiii~~~ive! got your license out of a cereal box! My mawmaw drunk on whiskey drives better than you! i know about that girly bear sleeping bag too, wuss. you better quit talking shit in this thing or I'll use it for target practice.

my brother better be okay. that's all i'm sayin. what y'all did was WRONG!

* * *

I knew it would happen sooner or later, but I didn't want Daryl to find my JOURNAL, not diary. I thought he was awfully quiet in the back seat. He said maybe two words to T-Dog during the trip, but it was a whole different story when we got to Atlanta, my old stomping grounds. I'm surprised Daryl put the journal back in my bag. It was a small awareness, but I had more pressing matters at hand and forgot about it.

So much crazy crap happened, like me being kidnapped for one, but I'll get to that part.

I quietly drove the Ferenc Builders truck over the railroad tracks in a relatively quiet, tucked away part of the city with vines and weeds growing everywhere. Nobody spoke as I shut off the truck. I finally said, "We walk from here" because it would be stupid bulldozing the truck through the city. Everybody knew that, of course, but I like being observant. My high school gym teacher reminded me everyday that I wasn't. He had a point since objects always hit me square in the face or other hidden areas because I was too busy watching the girls side.

We sneaked through a fence, and Rick broke the silence by asking a question I knew would get Daryl fired up: get the guns or Merle first? I didn't think about it, but now I get a little chuckle out of it because to me, Rick asked it like, "takeout or leftovers"?

And Daryl, if you read this, that was funny, admit it. Just not at the time.

Rick asked that question to me (guns and Merle, not takeout), and I felt important. I knew Merle was closer than the guns and it was a sweet relief to say Merle at the same time too. Again, I like my face and where everything is. Daryl has a crossbow and I've seen him use it.

Returning to the department store was honestly frightening despite only one stumbling walker. Daryl used his bow and nailed it in the head. See what I mean by being scared of him? Anyways, it's the thought of knowing we were so close to getting killed. I don't like going back to places where that happens. Gives me the jeebies.

Back up the same flight of stairs, we raced to the door and it was chained up good, like T-Dog promised. Walkers didn't get through. Daryl's other weapon is his feet; he didn't wait for us to, you know, open the door. Instead he kicked it and he sprung outside. I can understand since it's his brother and all. Didn't his foot hurt?! I winced just standing behind him.

Three things happened on the roof: No Merle, a sawed-off hand, and Daryl's wailing cries. It was actually heart breaking to see. The hand was gross. Daryl was beyond pissed, as expected, and he aimed his bow at T-Dog, ready to kill him! Rick and his gun handled the situation again. If it had been Merle, he would have hurt T-Dog or worse, but Daryl calmed down and dropped his mark. He asked T for a doo-rag and wrapped Merle's hand in it. I had this sinking dread as I looked around the team and knew I was the only one who had a bag.

Yep. He dumped the hand in my bag, right on top of my journal. Punishment. Revenge, what have you. I wasn't happy. I have blood stains on my damn cover! I'm obsessive compulsive to an extent; however, that's slowly tearing down since the apocalypse.

Man, that really did blow!

Sawing off one's hand means a lot of blood. We followed a dotted trail of it to a door on the other side and down another stairwell. It was an office area and had another walker, which Daryl disposed. That one had her jaw broken off and was very grotesque. You see a lot of disfigured walkers and it's surreal seeing no jaws, holes in heads, half bodies, etc. I still close my eyes and think of a happy place... from a safe distance.

We found two dead (or unmoving?) walkers, murdered by a bloody wrench, compliments of a one-handed Merle. Daryl was pretty proud of him. I really didn't want to find Merle. Besides, it was hot and muggy, and my stomach was hurting again. It really flip-flopped when we arrived in the kitchen and found a lit burner, a belt, and blood on the stove. I had no idea what happened, and Rick said plainly, "He cauterized his stump." I wanted to hurl.

Even more exciting was the one-handed redneck left the building through a window! I really believe what Daryl said, "Nobody can kill Merle except Merle." That's level 80 points. Rick and Daryl are probably 75, T-Dog 60, and I'm level 10. I would be 20, but I puke often.

Daryl shot off his blow hole again, declaring all hell on Atlanta and getting Merle back. Rick pushed him with a resounding NO, and we almost had a fight next to moldy bread. It calmed because of Rick and his quick wit again. T-Dog said he wasn't roaming the streets of Atlanta without those guns. I would have nodded my head off but I was swallowing back bile and saliva. That won't be the grossest thing I write in here. Get ready for it.

* * *

No lie: we needed a plan, and I'm good in that department. Once I got a little water and fresh air in the room, I grabbed a few office supplies and used the floor as an easel board. My plan was pretty awesome, if I say so myself: Daryl, his bow, and I use the old alley next to where the guns were dropped, I pick up the load, and dash to T and Rick two blocks in another alley because I might not be able to go the same way. See? Wasn't all that bad. I had to remember the best routes and traffic times in my pizza delivery profession; Daryl seemed impressed, or that I could tell. His silence usually means impressed or whoop-ass time. I didn't get a beating. And he called me a kid like he's some old dude.

Oh, we're just full of plans in this loveable, connected family brought together by some kid's experiment that went horribly wrong. I'm hoping that's what happened. You know they say about plans! Remember my kidnapping comment? Here it is:

Daryl and I dropped into the old alley, and I flung off my top shirt boss-style. Daryl made fun of me by calling me a Chinaman and I heroically stated, "I'm Korean" and charged into action. I almost got hung on the fence, but I didn't let that stop me! One sort of acquires multiple talents in these deadly situations: you half-run, half tip-toe, and half-jog. You're a ballet dancer, a football player, and a sprinter at the same time.

Thankfully, the guns were still there, and Rick's hat. I picked up both. Too many walkers guarded the way to Rick and T-Dog so back the other way I ran. I was all kinds of a nervous wreck galloping there. When I reached Daryl, two dudes were beating the crap out of him on the ground! Then, they jumped me! Kicked me and punched me. Yelled at me about the guns. I never got that while delivering pizzas. One of the guys screamed like a banshee; I learned later that he got an arrow in the ass. I got kidnapped, and I screamed for Daryl as they shoved me in a car. My heart pounded so loud I couldn't hear anything, and they blindfolded me with a bag and taped my mouth, too. Smelling sweat, blood, and funky human odor percolated my sensitive tummy. I thought I was going to die!

When the car stopped, I heard a bunch of Spanish, and then I wished I had paid attention in high school Spanish class. I only know how to say my name, a couple of greetings, and finding the bathroom. After a bit, they pushed me and I tripped on cold concrete. I heard arguing and chains and guns rattling. I sat on a squeaky old chair that kept leaning to the left, especially with someone's hand put pressure on my left shoulder. I knew it was going to snap anytime soon but it didn't. The hand lifted off me soon and I sat alone, a few whispers in the room. I needed to use the bathroom, but I wouldn't dare speak, especially my broken Spanish. Don't draw attention to yourself, I kept thinking.

They grabbed me up and dragged me up a flight of stairs. Stairs aren't an obstacle for me, but I was all over the place, mainly from someone almost pulling my arm out of its socket. A warm breeze hit me as we bounded outside, and I knew we were definitely on the roof. Have had a lot of experience on them. My feet melted below my legs, and I wanted to cry. No joke. I heard screaming from the ground, and they pushed me to the edge and ripped off the bag over my head. My vision went blurry, but I made out Rick and Daryl on the ground, and I had a fleeting moment of relief, but the whole hanging off the side of a building killed my jive. Yes, I whimpered and I'm not ashamed of it.

Did they drop me? Nooooo. It was all for show. They're the good kind of kidnappers. I know that sounds weird, but they're housing and protecting a bunch of old, sick, and middle-aged people here and they were after the guns, like we were. The new world makes you view things at a different angle. It was a misunderstanding, and I wasn't really harmed, except for my already churning stomach and a couple of bruises. Felipe apologized ramming his foot in my ribs.

I wish I had a phone so I could call Rick about it. I'm afraid things might get ugly, if they come back for me at all. I'm not sure if they will.

Their chihuahuas won't shut their yipping mouths. Little princesses sitting in their beds, unaware of the threat beyond the walls. Wish I could be that naive again.

* * *

It's a relief Rick is the brains of the group. They were ready to shoot the place up and rescue me, and that made me feel really special. If Daryl had been the leader, everyone would have arrows in their heads, including the dogs. Definitely the dogs.

They realized this place and its people aren't so bad. The overall idea of the place is ominous. At least in our camp, everybody can move when they need to, but people here, like Mr. Gilbert who has bad asthma and in a wheelchair, have to be stationery. I wish the best for them. I feel helpless, even in the little time I've spent here. Guillermo was custodian and he rose in the ranks and became leader of the group. I don't want to be leader, but I need more confidence in myself. Guillermo and his Vatos, and Rick too, helped me realize. Our homes may not be much, but they're something. I'm ready to get back to ours. A small part of me worries if there's one to go back to each time.

* * *

_We know a lot of drama is coming with the camp being overrun and the CDC. The angles will probably be more solemn and provide a deeper insight on Glenn's character. I welcome any suggestions. Until next time. - M_


	7. Chapter 7

_From the end of season 1, episode 4 "Vatos" to midway of episode 5 "Wildfire"._

* * *

Early mornings used to make me scream and kick in fury. My mom got a laugh out of watching me roll over in bed and moan unintelligible words. One summer, she had a cousin who worked out of a small cafe, and I wanted extra money to go to the beach. Guess where I ended up working? It meant early mornings and Mom flashing the lights until I was on the verge of a seizure. Mom had this weird laugh that reminded me of Yoda and a little flower girl. Most of the time it was cute and downright hilarious but not when it was about me and my glorious Z's. Now I would do anything to hear it again. Think I've even adopted and used it on a slip-up with T-Dog one day. I've never seen that kind of look from a big guy like him before. I got the chills.

Since D-Day (or W-Day?), I'm up early anyways because the camp needs me. Every bit of manpower is important and crucial to our survival. We can't get up and go to the grocery store anymore for a can of spam and toilet paper, or a Wendy's drive-thru. Convenience is kaput. Hamburgers and pizzas are only mouth-watering daydreams. And at first, you get a sense that this monstrosity will pass, and Walgreens will be back in business soon. It's only hit me in the last month this could go on for a long time and certain events bring you back to reality.

Here I write this journal entry with blood-soaked, grimy hands and a few tears. I joke and clown around in here a lot, but it's hiding what I really feel inside. I'm scared, and the future is looking really grim from where I'm standing. Our camp was over-run last night, and we lost a few people, including Olivia and the sweet old couple. I was just talking to them two days ago about haircuts and how my hair doesn't grow fast. They smiled and laughed at me, and that's the way I want to remember them. Not how they died...

We should have been here to protect them, but I don't have the heart to blame anybody. We can't be in two places at once, and this epidemic and poverty stretch you so thin. So few people and ammo, and walkers everywhere. We thought we were safe from them. I guess they come from the farms and roads. Like I said, anywhere.

Are we staying here? I'm not so sure. I saw Rick's shadow walking past my tent and then he disappeared. I'm packing up my things because I have that feeling in my hands again, like they need something in them. All I can think of are my work gloves, and I have no idea where they are.

Daryl's howling for everyone to help. The guy doesn't even let us mourn for two seconds. I kinda appreciate it honestly.

* * *

I said I appreciated Daryl, right? I take that back; the guy's a heartless loon. He tried burning our people, and for the first time, I showed how I really felt about it. Why would we burn them? Can't we give them some decent amount of respect, especially since we couldn't save them? I was ready to stand my ground. Daryl could beat my head in, but I was prepared to give it my all. I don't care for him and want to keep my distance. Dragging what used to be people across the dirt and chucking them into flames is hard enough. You can't wrap your mind and feelings around it.

It will never be easy for me. Ever.

And know what's even worse? Jim was bit by a walker, and suddenly a new obstacle is in front of us. We have to bury people and then wonder what will happen to Jim. Well, we know what's going to happen, but we want to hope and save him in any way we can. Rick suggested going to the Centers for Disease and Control (CDC), and after some debate, the group agreed with him.

I can't think straight. Need to get some water.

* * *

We're on the road again. Dale and I are in the RV, and we're on our way to the CDC. Morales and his family decided to go in the other direction towards Birmingham. Leaving our group. Leaving... I watched their bumper until I couldn't see it anymore. Dale's not speaking, which feels odd, and I have to keep an eye on the road map. I feel useful. I feel like a part of this team now.

I'm not sure what's going to happen when we get to the CDC, and the word terrified falls short.

* * *

_Coming up to the end of season 1 soon. I still need to buy the second season..._


	8. Chapter 8

_From the end of season 1, episode 5 "Wildfire" to midway of episode 6 "TS-19"_

* * *

Dear Glenn's Journal,

It is tempting to read you, very much so, but instead, I will record my own thoughts. We lost Jim an hour and a half ago, in a way I could have never imagined. He's on the side of the road, his own wishes, slowly dying and in harm's way. You can never prepare yourself for a world like this. This one is so dark and harsh and unforgiving; you leave your friends on sides of roads to die, and there's nothing you can do. Hope is a light slowly fading, but at least it still burns for now.

It burns for you, Glenn. Breathe light and don't let it go out.

Your friend,

Dale

* * *

So hey we're at the CDZ and this doctor Jenker let us in and we have hot water and wine and I think I'll sleep tonight like a baby. I haven't seen a dead baby before but that would be sad and gross and damn I want another shower! Hot water never tasted so good and I know I'm drunkz and daryl's laughed at me and said chinaman go drinky drinky tinky tick and you know that was real sweet of Dale to write nice things to me. I like nice things. i remember wanting a cd player and i had to wash the neighbors dogs and some guy's cat that clawed me up real good but i made enough money to get my cd player only for my sister to run over it with her bike. That was messed up. i hated washing those dogs and that demon cat.

Shane is a buzzkill because he asked jenner at dinner about why there are no other doctorz - jenner at dinner! - and we were all laughing and then everybody got silent and was serious. I have the hiccups and i want a twinkie. they're supposed to have a good shelf life.

i don't wanna leave here!

* * *

_This is a short one because Glenn wouldn't have much time to write between finding the CDC, escaping walkers, and getting drunk. Then, all hell breaks loose with Jenner, and the CDC goes up in ghastly flames. So this wraps up season 1! I can't say when season 2 will start but I'm looking forward to writing it. I have to move soon but I'll do my best to keep this updated. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Halfway through Season 2, episode 1: "What Lies Ahead"_

* * *

Endless nights of little sleep, oh how I hate and smite thee with whatever blunt object is in thine hands. I hated Shakespeare. I'm glad he's not among the living dead or he'll recite lame poetry and force us to watch days of his boring theatrical affairs with walker husbands, kings, wives, dogs.. all trying to die for one another and sleep with the next of kin. If this proves I know nothing about Shakespeare, I made my point clear enough and I can get the image of my hot senior year English teacher dressed as a ghoul out of my head.

Have I written down my many bizarre dreams? I could write a whole book on it. My aunt is a therapist and she used to croak on about illnesses and patients over Sunday dinner, and my mom would respond to her like talking to a puppy dog. I'm pretty sure Aunt Candy broke all kinds of health privacy violations discussing Pin Needle Janice, No Nose, Basement John, and countless other people's cases. Wonder what she thinks of this madness floating around these days? She was kinda loony, too. I see her locking herself in the very ward she's thrown in hundreds of others. The last place I want to be is locked up somewhere. I prefer the free air and the cover of trees, you know, to be able to move around and not all cramped and barking at each other over space, "get your foot out of my eye", "that's my elbow", and "watch where your hand goes" like something out of a kids show.

My brain seems to think this is all one big cartoon on the nights I do get some shut-eye. Last night I dreamed all of us- Rick, Lori, Shane, T-Dog, Andrea, Carol, Sophia, and Daryl- were on stage during a spelling bee. Dale was the teacher asking us to spell out stupid words like 'refrigerator', 'incapacitated', 'pantomime', 'screwdriver', etc. I looked over at Daryl and he was dressed like a clown with a big evil, dead grin on his face and spelled 'short round' and I somehow found that hilarious even though I really wouldn't and then I couldn't spell my word. Can't remember what it was, but Dale was pretty ticked at me. Not my fault I found Daryl funny. It's the only chance I get to laugh at him.

Oh! Then I remember a short dream where a pretty girl with black hair and beautiful black eyes asked me to ride on a carousel with her. We shared popcorn, drinks, she squealed on the rides and snuggled tight with me, I won her a teddy bear, and it ended with the two of us high on a ferris wheel, looking over a land full of walkers pissed they had to wait their turn on the ride; I was all set for a wet sloppy romantic kiss and an egg magically rolled out of her mouth. I woke up wanting bacon, and instead I had Dale knocking on my head.

"Rise and shine, third grader. We're going to Fort Benning."

I fell asleep in his RV, squished on the table seat. What was he talking about? I think my dull expression said it all.

"You were calling out words and spelling them. I remember going to my niece and nephew's interesting little recitals." His eyes twinkled under the sunlight, but I half cared. "I told their parents to give them hard practice words so they could knock the other kids out of the ball park." Dale has a small competitive streak; the others just don't see it. "My wife and I held hands and squeezed tight when the other kids lost."

"I want a sandwich."

"Fresh out of bread." He shrugged and shook the RV with his nonchalant steps. Happy as the sun in the middle of a cold, dark blizzard and me with no gloves and boots on for it, of course. I really did want a sandwich. Above my head, I saw a sign that read 'have a cup of shut the hell up' and I went back to sleep. Screw them all.

I had no time to even fall into REM before several pounds next to my head exploded and a husky voice through the window roared, "You got the nice version with Dale! Get your ass up, cat food. Time to go!"

How do I serve those cups of shut the hell ups? I need a whole pot of it, stat.

* * *

When I dreamed of Sophia in the contest, she was this pretty little star, happy and wiggling in her spot, obviously enjoying her time in the spotlight. I looked closer and she had blood smears on her round, freckled face, and when she smiled, her teeth were yellow and moldy. How could she still be so adorable? What the hell is my mind going through? If I had these kinds of nightmares, I wonder what theirs is like.

It's hard to write holding a flashlight under your chin. Every day in this miserable state pushes a person so close to the edge that I believe we're over it and crawling down it now. The RV's radiator blitzed on us today and left us stranded. We couldn't turn back and head up an interstate bypass I found on the map. No fuel to spare. We were conveniently parked in the middle of a highway stretch with dead and overturned cars for miles. When I say my heart was so far up my throat I could chew on it, I mean it. I didn't want to be there. I don't think anybody wanted it.

"Try not to shit on yourself, Glenn." That was advice to me for the day. I'll go ahead and give you a spoiler: it didn't work. While I didn't release the valve on my exterior, I sure came close.

Dale put me right to work on the hose. "Flathead screwdriver," he said through steam pouring out of the grill. It was too hot for all of that mess and I don't have any skin hairs to cook. No protection! I went in search of a replacement hose that was hopefully in one of the many cars on the highway. Shane found a truck full of water bottles and we might as well have won the lottery. It was even better than the lottery. I was to the point of a geekgasm and churned the screwdriver happily over my first mechanic job before Shane yanked my arm and threw me on the ground. He pushed me under the truck and I was a little peeved about skinning my hands. That was the least of my worries.

The next few minutes were sheer terror as a herd of walkers marched on the highway and shambled over our heads. I say minutes but it felt like eons. We were vulnerable and just.. out there. What's horrible was when we thought it was over, it got worse. Two walkers straggled behind and saw Sophia just as she emerged. She ran and scream, something I would do too if I was her age. You don't think about what these kids go through.

I wish I had better news to report, but now it's nighttime and we've been looking for her all evening. Rick said he told her how to get back to camp while he drew the two walkers away. She was scared and alone, and I'm not sure where she went. This is a huge area of forest surrounding us, and a little princess shouldn't stray too far from her castle. Well, I could make this RV into a castle if I had the My Little Pony and Dora the Explorer pink frilly things, but Dale would drop to the ground and seize under a kaleidoscope of pretty-splosion. I feel like I kinda own the RV too since I did wind up fixing it. Do you think he would see it my way?

I hope we find Sophia. That would help me go back to my nightmares and not, you know… staying awake.


	10. Chapter 10

_The conclusion to season 2, episode 1 "What Lies Ahead" through the middle of episode 2, "Bloodletting"_

* * *

Well I didn't have to worry about sleeping; sleep is for losers. This is the first time in two days I found the time to write. Holy shit balls, it's been insane. Why am I surprised? It didn't help that I lost my pen, too. I dropped it somewhere in the forest and I went to go look for it but Daryl hollered at me before I swam in poison oak. Ivy, whatever. I don't know the difference. Both can make you wish a walker would bite you and take the pain away….. yeah, I'm serious. I had it two times before, and my mother poured some much pink stuff on me, I felt like a flamingo dodging bullets.

I lost my train of thought. A cute girl is a stone's throw away on this farm we stumbled on after Carl got shot. We still haven't found Sophia, and T-Dog managed to slice his arm to pieces. Was he going to feed jerky to the walkers? So, yeah, we have a lot to go over.

That cowgirl sure is cute. You're wondering why I'm talking about girls instead of serious matters? Damn, I get sick of writing about walkers. This should be called the Dead Journal, or Bought the Farm Chronicles. Fitting, given current events. I know I'm crabby. Blame it on my nerves. When everyone else is frazzled, it makes me ten times more nervous. It's like I collect their anxiety in a jar and take one long sniff. I overdose on it.

Let me see if I can remember the first day: while looking for Sophia, Daryl and Rick sliced open a freaking walker, like meshed around in its guts as if they were stirring stew. I'm not even going to describe what I felt. It was horrible and thank god I didn't have to be there! Cutting up the dude back in Atlanta was enough. It's already crazy that we have to cut off the brain but lurk in their bowels too? Next thing you know we'll be barbequing them. That's when the others can push me off the nearest cliff into the ocean where I'll be fish food. The idea of another person eating my flesh terrifies me. I mean, living people. The late nights of reading cannibals on Wikipedia are still fresh in my mind.

They let me have a new weapon, too. Rick and Shane don't want us popping off guns with our twitchy fingers. I got something called a gator machete, and I found it awesome. Got a cool hook to it, sharp enough to do the job. I probably shouldn't have been so excited, like a birthday or Christmas present. I wonder if my birthday has passed, or anybody else's. I don't keep up with the days anymore, not like I ever did. I think Andrea was at one point.

I shouldn't talk about people's problems in here. Sometimes I leave this book in plain sight, as the situations with Dale and Daryl writing in here explains perfectly clear, and it would be a nightmare if someone other than those two read it. T might be alright, except for the jerky joke. I wonder about Andrea, though. Ever since we left the CDC, she and Dale have been at each other's throats. I pretend to not pay attention, but it was kind of hard yesterday when they argued in close range, rather loudly. I'm not choosing a side. Better to keep my nose out of it. Besides, searching for Sophia is a much bigger issue. After that awkward moment, all of us trekked into the woods, and I like to think each of us kept high hopes for finding her. I can't speak for anyone else, but I've been numb. If she's been gone this long, overnight at that, it's not a very good sign. I'm sorry, Carol. I'll slap myself for that. I'm not sure I'm the same guy anymore. The sky seems a lot hazier.

There was this tent in the woods. Rick had Carol call for Sophia, and the way she called her daughter, in that moment made me choke a little. There was hurt, despair in her voice yet just a dash of hope in it. Was Sophia in the tent? No, she wasn't.

The smell from the tent was awful and reminded me of my uncle's kimchi one summer, and that's not a terribly hard dish to make. He was a disastrous cook. Isn't it funny how smells and body parts remind me of my family? What else have I got? No pictures or videos. I wasn't lucky enough to grab those.

Church bells blared out of nowhere, scared the crap out of me. We shot towards the noise and the closer we got, the more I hoped Sophia would be there to prove me wrong, in one of the pews, huddled and cradling her doll. I really hoped for that. It was a shame to find three walkers there waiting for us. They turned to us like they were expecting us to visit. Could they remember what it's like to pray? Pray for you to disappear then, assholes.

Daryl threw his crossbow in my hands and ran to help Rick and Shane waste the uglies. I didn't feel badass holding it or anything. I always wondered if I would. Guess I was too disappointed over not seeing Sophia running down the aisle, crying and running into her mom's arms. I would even be okay if she wanted to run into mine. I'm not the most huggable person and haven't been touched in years, but I would break it for her.

Something told me I shouldn't have stayed in the church with Lori and Carol. I know I said in here before that I really didn't know people, only surviving with them, but along the way now, we take a little downtime when we don't have to run and can put our hearts on the table. I'm afraid I don't have anything except being there for people and fighting the dead. Carol really prayed hard and asked for forgiveness. It was eavesdropping, and I'm ashamed. Mom taught me better.

I hate when the group splits up, and that's what happened after we left the church. We don't have electronics to keep in touch with anyone! Even Daryl agreed with me, and he would have seen that too if I had spoken up. Why do I want cool points with Daryl anyways? I think I sort of look up to the other men in the group. I have my moments of leadership and clarity, but I run out of steam fast. Protecting everyone is a priority, of course, so I'll do anything. Maybe I'm just scared and directionless.

I went with Lori, Carol, Daryl, and Andrea. Rick, Shane, and Carl wanted another hour to search, and we were going back to the highway. The heat is outrageous and zaps the energy out of you. Your backpack gets heavier and sweat pools under your hat. Hey, I can't complain to the others; we don't exactly have a powwow around a campfire, or a secret feelings club. My sister had one of those, and I crashed it one night, not on purpose though. Anna was one of her cute friends, and I tried to steal a picture of her out of my sis's room, but the girls came up the stairs fast and I had to hide in the closet. I used to have a little bit of claustrophobia and she kept a mountain of crap in there. I had to get out of it and sent the girls screaming as the closet regurgitated me and a bunch of bras and stuffed zebras out of it. Anna didn't come over for a long time, and she ran into the bathroom every time I passed her in the school hallway.

Andrea was still angry at Dale taking her gun away, and she was jealous of Lori having one. All I could think to myself was how much Lori looked like my mom as she told us to basically chill out and stop acting like pricks. Mom used to call me 'Babo', which in Korean can mean a few different things, but her version was 'fool'. I knew it was an endearing name, but she kept using it and even called me that in front of relatives and on Facebook. No wonder my relationship status was always 'single'.

We heard a gunshot in the distance and had no idea what was going on. If only we knew it was little Carl taking a bullet. Lori had that feeling, man, I know she did. "Why one? Why just one gunshot?" she asked us. I was ready to go back the way we came and check it out, but Daryl remained adamant about moving forward. I hated not knowing, too. Wish we went back.

I don't know how Daryl gets us through the woods. He has like nature radar or something. All the trees and the dirt look the same to me. He can see tracks, too. Our search came up short, and we had to head back to the RV before we lost light. Nobody noticed how far behind Andrea fell until she screamed in the distance as a walker came out of nowhere.

What really intrigued me was a girl on a horse that swooped in like the lone ranger and slammed the walker in the head with a baseball bat. She said something about Carl being shot and she lived on a farm and I kind of dropped into a daze after that. Badass cowgirl to the rescue. Lori hopped on the horse and off they flew through the woods, leaving us in a dust of wind and leaves. I wished I had a horse.


	11. Chapter 11

_From the ending of episode 2, "BloodLetting" to the middle of episode 3 "Save the Last One"._

* * *

When I was 16, my neighbor ran over my bike. Mom felt it was time to upgrade to a car because she was tired of driving everyone around and only driving herself to work and the grocery store. "Your sisters can babysit you. I'm ready for a party," she said as she leaned over the sewing machine, working on some quilt for Mildred, a lady from her church.

"Party?" I retorted and opened a bottle of cream soda. "Church party?"

She hesitated, sighed, and gave me a disapproving look. "Does it look like I can go clubbing? Don't you dare use the coffee table to open those bottles. I paid good money for it!"

Yeah, right. She bought it at the thrift store, the same day I had the flu when I passed out and broke the old table. "What kind of party then, Mom?"

She never answered. A week later, my older sis giggled at finding erasers and lipsticks shaped like…. You know what. She continued going to parties and I was left in a state of ignorant bliss.

Driving a car down the backroads was easy. Driving a car in the middle of rush hour and parallel parking during lunch sent me into a spiraling descent of madness. Mom's car was a nice one; she worked a second job to pay for it. Then I ran over an inflatable dog at the Taco Bell and crashed into the curb and suddenly I couldn't drive it anymore; I never told her about Burger King's flowers. Then, my Aunt Candy loaned me her old '98 Buick with a heater that never shut off, a missing driver's side window, and a horn that got stuck on me a few times. Whenever it rained, my pizza coworkers said, "Everyone, roll your windows up. Glenn, get the plastic out." It finally squeaked its mortal coil and went to Car Hell.

Carol's Cherokee reminded me of the old Buick but not as bad. I had to drive T-Dog to this farm. If we didn't get help for his arm, he was going to die. I don't want to think about that.

I was pretty ticked at Dale for volunteering me to drive in the dark and try to find this place. My Korean eyes aren't equipped for nighttime exploring, like I don't have night vision lens, or X-ray vision, or "Asian superpowers activate!" or something. T-Dog said I ran over a skunk, and three deer crossing the road scared the crap out of me. The last thing I needed was explaining to Carol why dead deer was all over her car. But then again, we could have deer for dinner. What if the deer wasn't dead and I had to put it out of its misery though? That's not as easy as you think. It's an innocent deer.

I saw spots of blood on the porch steps. Every step closer to the house made me nervous. I get a little chuckle out of knowing I was scared to ring the bell, or knock on the door. I knocked on doors for a living. T wasn't amused by it, and it was understandable, with an infected cut and all. He marched up the steps, but a sweet voice stopped us. There she was: Senorita Zorro, Cool Cowgirl. Generous Hostess, Maggie Greene. She made me a ham and cheese sandwich, and somehow knew I liked mayonnaise and mustard on it.

Little Carl lay on the bed in the far room, hanging on to a thread of his life. I told Rick if there was anything they needed, we were there, but what else could I say? I know Carl will pull through, and give it him damnedest. Rick and Lori can't lose him. We can't lose him.

So I've never dealt with emotional pain well. I can't remember a time when I had a close relative or friend die. Could life have been saving my turns for this huge disaster now? I still feel angry, but not at Dale anymore. Going to church never appealed to me; Mom did it, my younger sis too, but I stopped going after I was twelve. Mom prayed for everyone and everything. She always tried to coax me back in the temple but I never did. I'm not sure what pushed me to sit on the porch alone and pray tonight. Is there a certain way to pray? Choice words to use? Pray from a different part of your heart? A ritual? I did it anyways. It was the first time I had peace to pray and it felt like the right thing to do.

Maggie Greene interrupted me, and I was a little frayed. I came across as a complete turd, but I felt a little violated. She said a sweet thing to me. Said I needed to make it okay somehow, no matter happens. No matter what happens. I think I needed that. I've calmed down some.

Oh god, Maggie just asked what I was writing and she walked over here. She smells like apple pie and hay. It occurred to me I probably shouldn't talk about her in here. I shouldn't talk about anybody, the ones who are in close vicinity, which is everyone, now that I think about it. I think I should use codenames from now on. Glaggie Meene? No, she'll figure that out.

It doesn't matter.

I heard talk of Shane and a fellow named Otis going after medical supplies. They've been gone all day, and time is running out for Carl. There's a lot of noise and clattering around now. Whimpers. Crying. This is hard. This is really hard.

People are moving in a different rhythm now. Heard a truck pull up.


	12. Chapter 12

_From the end of "Save the Last One" to "Cherokee Rose"_

* * *

"_You have a beautiful heart, Babo. You get that from your late Uncle Myung-Dae, a righteous and great man. I am proud of you for seeing him as your rolemodel as your father and I can be noodle-headed. Your father, more than me. Clean up the bathroom tonight. Love, Mom_."

A note my mom stuffed in my math notebook; I read it many times, laughing and snorting at it, and the stupid thing found its way in my books at least monthly. I swear I threw it away like three times and then it fell out of a book in front of Jay, one of my good buds. He called me Babo and gave me a plunger for Christmas. After that, I stuffed it under my mattress with my _Wired_ magazines. Mom didn't want me to be a geek; she preferred I went in the military or on the riverboat. Said I was destined for the ocean in some way even though she never took me to the beach and I almost drowned when I was five.

Shane returned alone. I'm not sure what happened to Otis. It must have been really bad at the school. I guess there was nothing anyone could do. If only more of us could have gone.

Maggie was devastated. She helped me, so I helped her.

I nodded at her family pictures on the fridge. "Who else? Who'd you lose?"

She was speechless and sobbing. It really doesn't matter how much death we see, it still hurts.

"You said I had to make this okay somehow," I reminded her. Slowly, she pointed at two of the pictures: her stepmother and then her stepbrother. I'm sure they were really cool, friendly people. They looked like it.

Delivering pizzas, you meet some interesting people. I took pizza to a regular customer on Tuesdays: this quiet older woman, pretty black hair with spots of white in it, wore colorful clothes. One sunny afternoon, hot and dry, she left the door open to get her money, and I saw all of these brown boxes in her livingroom. They looked like pizza boxes, made into works of art, hanging on the walls and resting on stools. She looked like she lived alone since I never saw a car in the driveway, just a rusty old bike, usually with a flat tire or dangling chain. I wondered if she ever ate the pizzas.

That's who Maggie's stepmom reminded of, but I'm sure Maggie didn't want to hear that. Hear my blabbering and wonder if I'm still sane, as much as I can be during current events. I let her talk about their camping trips, picnics, and annual horse shows. Her mom painted on dolls and made bracelets. She and her sister, Beth, wear them every day. Never takes them off.

Otis' wife, Patricia, filled the room with her sobs after the news of her husband's death. Rick and Herschel told her together. I can't be the one to do that, probably never. I don't see how Rick does it. I guess it was his job as sheriff to take on the tough duties, but I couldn't tell customers we were out of thin crust pizza without breaking into a sweat.

Lights out now. We have the funeral for Otis tomorrow morning.

* * *

"_Glenn, you better not forget my birthday. I showed you what I wanted at the mall last weekend, remember? Or were you too busy drooling over the ATVs in the other store? Twenty hot girls could pass you by and you wouldn't notice. I saw one looking at you, but I think she wanted to hand you a napkin. And you missed that opportunity, knucklehead."_

My little sister's final words to me. If I could describe her in a few terms: spoiled, mouthy, and meticulous. She painted my nails when I was six and told me to ask dad if I was pretty.

But also, she was brave. I know for certain she maintained order in the house and tried to get our mom to safety. She was better at handling herself than I was. I wish she was here with me, to whap me upside the head and give me advice about Maggie, even if it was a 'no chance you're hitting that' or 'you need a city girl'. Always with the city girls. They're mean and give you the wrong directions and purposely scheme to get a free pizza. They don't tip.

I can't come up with meaningful words to describe those who I have lost. Mom was a pistol and never let us go hungry. My older sis was in college and stayed away except for holidays. She could cook and sing. I loved them, that's all I can say because I really mean it.

Shane said heartfelt words about Otis this morning, a man he hardly knew, as we all placed rocks on the memorial. Maggie showed me his pictures last night. Looked like a great guy, too. Carl getting shot by Otis was a devastating accident. He's stabilized now after getting the treatment he needed, thank the Heavens. If only Otis had made it back alright, and we all would have come out a little better.

Dale, Andrea, Daryl, and Carol reunited with us at the farm. It was sort of awkward. I felt like we were imposing on these people's land. Rick worked out a deal where we could stay for the time being while Carl heals. That means setting up the tents under the shade. I hate setting up tents. They're a load of crap and I can never connect the right parts to the right widgets and ends and holstering and having the damn thing fall on your head when you get inside. T-Dog has to help me, but he chuckles and shows me up.

I was more interested in what Rick and the group were talking about near the Cherokee. I helped Carol with her tent since it was the closest to the car, but I think she knew what I was doing. She's very observant.

"Glenn could do it…"

"Yeah, we'll send Glenn…"

"Good idea. Let's start combing the woods. Tell Glenn…"

My stomach froze and I really wanted to run away. I don't feel like being errand boy today; my back is hurting and I have blisters on my feet. Why can't I look for Sophia, too? Some days I feel a delicious high charging into the cities, but more and more, I want to pass up the chance. Maybe I'm getting old. I should talk to Dale about it.

* * *

Would you believe Maggie asked me to go to the pharmacy with her? Oh, sure. Rick told her Gyro Glenn is the man for the job. She didn't even really ask. Sort of told me I was coming. Actually, I think she asked but didn't give me time to answer. That happens a lot. I'm not prepared to deal with confrontations. Cousin Genero's Pizza taught me to just smile and hand out food. I can do that at least.

We're also going to ride horses to town. I said I wanted a horse in here, right? I take that back. I've never ridden one of those things in my life. I just think they look cool. Maggie looks great on one. Watch me get bucked off and fall on the only cow patty and mud puddle for miles.

* * *

List of things to get at the store:

Bandaids

Ointment

Lighter

Toilet paper

Bleach

Dale asked for pepto bismol for Andrea's tummyache. Check.

"Get me an ice cream while you're there," T joked, guzzling down a bottle of water. "My mom did that when I was a kid. That was the way to do it. Chocolate hazelnut pecan and Mississippi Mud pie." I laughed at him, thinking of him as a little tot reaching to his mom for the succulent treat.

"Hey, I'm serious. If you see one, bring it back," before he ran off with Dale to the wells.

Everyone told me what they needed, except Carol. "Thank you, Glenn. I have everything I need," and gave me a small smile before walking back to the pit fire. I'm worried about her, we all are. She's always been quiet but before Sophia went missing, she was opening up some, small giggles, smiling more. I've noticed for a long time she and Daryl kind of float in the background, doing their own thing. T did it too, but Dale and I got him to loosen up. I'm no Rambling Roger, but I've always been the guy stuck to the wallpaper and I got sick of it. The apocalypse has done wonders for my self-esteem.

I'm feeling nervous, but I'm going to leave this journal in the RV for Carol. She's far too polite to read my incoherent writing (and probably wouldn't understand it anyways) so I hope she finds it useful and writes down her own thoughts. Maybe this will be like a community pipeline, fellowship of the pencil, or pen if that's all someone can find. I had to write this in purple marker today. Couldn't find a stinking pen anywhere. Too chicken shit to ask Maggie for one. I probably won't even say much to her on the trip. I don't know how to talk to girls. I sort of mumble and point when I talk to Lori, Andrea, or Carol.

Dale and T-Dog are coming back this way. Later.


	13. Chapter 13

"_Cherokee Rose"_

* * *

You can add a well to the odd places where we find walkers.

Not as soon as I finished the last entry, T-dog and Dale ran back from the wells telling us about a major problem. Ol' Stinky McLardBag was sitting all nice and ugly in our drinking water. Yummy. T suggested someone blow its brains out, but that's a good idea, and we hate those. Tried lowering a chunk of ham for it to eat, but that was too easy for it.

I have this nervous twitch where I tuck my tongue behind my lower lip. I never noticed it until today when everyone gave me questionable stares after suggesting throwing some live bait down there.

Hi, my name is Glenn, and I'm the poor bastard they wrapped a rope around and lowered down there. Oh, why would you do that, Glenn the Poor Bastard? Because there's nothing else to do at two in the afternoon. No happy hours around, so why not enjoy the company of a walker with gills? Maybe we would get to know each other, maybe draw a truce between our teams. Team Living vs. Team Dead. Team Breathing vs. Team Rigor Mortis. The living part is important, I told them. Very important.

Man, I really tried to talk my way out of it. I even complimented Shane's shaved head, which was hard to do. I can see my reflection in it, it's so short. He just sneered at me, patted me on the back, and wished me luck. I even begged T-Dog to let me run into several towns and find his ice cream. Dale didn't budge, either.

Maggie gave me a disapproving look before I climbed down. I pretty much knew what she was thinking.

Okay, there are a few things I won't write about in here. I didn't write about the CDC… it still haunts me. We had it all for one night and then it blew into the sky along with Jenner and Jackie. Dale and Andrea almost died. Well, this is another one of those times. I was terrified in that well. Can't shake off the feeling of being in such a tight space with a walker. I could have died, very nearly came close to it when the damn pipe ripped out of the ground and all of them on the surface struggled with my rope!

I have bile coming back up in my throat just thinking about it.

They got my skinny ass out of the well, but that was enough excitement for me. I still had a pharmacy run to do, too!

"How else are we going to do this?" Andrea asked, eyeing the well with disgust. Everyone fell silent.

I said between panicked breaths, "How about using a buggy of some kind, a pulley?"

"What about a horse?" T-Dog is a bright fella. We should listen to him more often. In fact, when he suggested putting a bullet through its head the first time, we should have taken the advice. Saved a few years of my life.

We got the asshole out of the well, sort of. It got stuck and then ripped in half, with the bottom half and all of the yummy entrails and blood falling back into the well. God, it stunk. I silently gagged and rolled in the dirt.

T put all of his frustration into smashing the walker's head. He really wasn't having a good day. He needed ice cream.

Maggie. The look on her face. She had never seen anyone be so vicious to one of these things. I think I'll talk to her on the horse ride and get her mind off it. First, I need to get on the horse and learn to stay on it. I'm sure she'll get a kick out of me flapping around and muttering to the horse, pleading with it to stay still and be a good horse.

I think I really do like her. Not just because she's around my age, but she seems like a strong woman, capable of taking care of herself. I'm on her side. I'm sure she doesn't want to hear that. That's lame.

Now, women like smooth talkers. I can tell her how I used to run into Atlanta by myself and slip past all the geeks and then I'll be heroic in her eyes instead of a dude who can't plant the first seed in a garden.


	14. Chapter 14

_Middle of "Cherokee Rose" to the beginning of "Chupacabra"_

* * *

See, I'm that guy who has no clue about women, even growing up with two sisters and a mother in the household. Dad was sometimes there, but mostly working. At age thirteen, he gave me the 'talk', and it was real awkward. I don't know where it came from because I didn't have any girly magazines under my mattress and he didn't catch me…. You know. Doing that thing. I'm glad I wasn't around when he and Mom when they were discussing how to talk to me about it. Totally awkward.

That day, I finished my dinner early and started on my homework. I remember my knee was banged up pretty bad from P.E. class; I kept scratching it. Dad walked through the doorway like he was looking for something on the floor, and I stared at him for a second. "Can I help you, Dad?"

"Yeah, uh…. You got a second?" He finally looked up at me. I took a second to answer due to not knowing entirely what was going on.

"Am I - am I in trouble?"

"No, no," he shrugged, "need to discuss some things with you." He peered into the hallway for any sign of trouble and closed the door behind him. He stood like two feet away from me with his back hugging the door. "You're at that age now, where… uhm.. you're thinking about girls and how you feel about them. Your body, it's changing as you've probably seen.."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The truth was I hadn't noticed anything changing on my body. I was still scrawny and high-pitched. People calling me ma'am instead of sir.

"So it's time we talk about the girls and what you need to know…"

My pencil trembled in my hands. "Now?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, now. Your math can wait."

"It's actually, um…." It was time to clear my throat. "B-biology. I'm to a really cool part so if you'll just let me f-finish—"

"Put it up. This can't wait."

So I guess Dad thought I was going out that night and having sex with every able-bodied female in the county. The talk was painful. Dad went back and forth from talking about the topic on hand to making me understand that birds and bees don't reproduce like humans do and that I should read about that in my science class. Awful comparison, he stated. My penis is a weapon of love and war but to keep it out of everyone's business and tend to my own. When I got the urge, he said, go to a quiet, dark place, like a cat, and let it go. Females are trouble. You make love to them and soon you're washing dishes and bringing home none of your paycheck. Do you think my dad harbored any bad feelings for my mom? He was a terrible, but funny teacher. I wanted to ask how I knew it was the time was right, with the right girl, but Mom cried for him and with a blurt of 'good example?' while pointing in Mom's direction, he left me completely confused and a little horrified that my penis was going to fall off and I wouldn't know how to pee.

This reminds me of the time I had to buy tampons for my mom and sisters. I would have been embarrassed but a dude in front of me mumbled that he should have bought a condom and then he wouldn't be holding a pregnancy test. I don't know if he meant for me to hear him so I held my chuckle in. I hoped I wouldn't be in his position for a long time.

That time came today. I have a point to all this, but I can't exactly throw it up in here.

I was on a fleeing high on the way back from the pharmacy. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and my face felt hot. It wasn't from the sun. It wasn't from the nice breeze through the deserted streets or riding the smelly horse. Maggie made me happy. Very happy. My legs were numb for a little while and all I could smell was her. Her apple pie and haystack fragrance. Today, she had a hint of vanilla. She looked particularly pretty today. I am one lucky guy!

Too bad she just told me it was a one time thing. I liked the idea of snuggling in a tent and laughing over s'mores, if we could find some chocolate and marshmallows, and kissing under the moonlight.

That kinda hurt. Yeah. It really hurt a lot.

Think I'll take a break from writing now.

* * *

To Glenn, and your little part of this dark world,

I have counted the days, the hours, the minutes since Sophia's disappearance. I can't think about her dying or being hungry and afraid in the woods. Instead, I daydream of our time we had together. My little girl, she loved the amusement parks and circuses. I let her skip school a couple of times, and we rode the ferris wheel and she won a stuffed monkey for me. The poor thing fell ill a couple of times, not sure what threw her body in a tantrum from visiting the fair, and I cleaned her up the best I could and read her favorite Raggedy Ann and Andy books. I always liked that she adored the stories I grew up with as a little girl. She's twelve and growing up entirely too fast for me to reach her and hold her back a few more years. On Sunday mornings, I waited while she took a shower since she wanted to be a grown up and take showers once a week, usually on Sundays, and dried her hair and fixed her up real pretty for church. We had the best time there every Sunday, talking with other people and letting Sophia play with the other kids. They provided a potluck lunch, and I could always use an excuse to be in the kitchen. Her favorite sweets are cupcakes, the lemon filled kind. When she comes back, I hope Herschel and his family will let me bake cupcakes for her, and anybody else who would like some, too. I did some summer cleaning and freshened up the RV. Sewing isn't a favorite of mine, but I have a little project I've been slowly building for her. She loves the color yellow, reminds her of the sun and umbrellas.

Daryl gave me a Cherokee rose today, said he found it at an abandoned house where he thinks Sophia might have hid. The story he told was beautiful. Mothers' tears created these roses for their little ones. I can't stop crying. She's out there, and I can't wait until we find her. He has given me so much renewed strength.

I am thankful to have found new friends, trusting people in this aftermath. We met Lori, Shane, and Carl on the highway the first night, and I had such a good feeling about them. I don't usually get good feelings about people. I'm very frightened of strangers. Everyone here has been kind, including Herschel and his family. I'm thinking about asking Lori if she will help me ask the Greene family if we could cook a big dinner for them. I have to keep my hands busy. It keeps my heart and mind alive.

Carol

* * *

Glenn,

I read the first few pages, I admit. How did you make me laugh and cry at the same time? You're a great guy. I'm glad we're in this together. Didn't you say your birthday was in the summer? I was keeping up with the days on the calendar but I lost track after we left Atlanta. Happy birthday, in case I missed it. You need to draw Pierre the Porcupine again. Love you.

Andrea

* * *

_*** Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,_  
_Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._  
_Do not go gentle into that good night._  
_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

This has stuck with me for so many years. I read it to my brother during his final moments a few years ago. I read it the night Rick was shot, and every night after that. I stopped reading it for a while, but I've since picked it up again. No one should forget it. I'll write the whole poem in the back of the book for you. Thank you, Glenn, for putting your life on the line for us every day.

Lori

* * *

Play your guitar, Glenn. I didn't ransack a kid's car and steal his guitar for you not to play it. You have a fine porch and rocking chair to pluck away on the strings into the long hours of the day. Become the next Bob Dylan, Buddy Holly. What did you kids used to listen to? Insane Clown Possum? Justin Goober? How about a Beatle, son? You can't go wrong with that kind of music.

Dale

* * *

_**"Do not Go Gentle into that Good Night" by Dylan Thomas_


	15. Chapter 15

"_Chupacabra"_

* * *

It doesn't bother me anymore if anyone reads this. If everyone does. Rick and Shane are the only two who haven't written in here yet. I don't see myself approaching Shane or putting it in his tent for him to get curious and read about my delusional girlfriend dreams, hyperactive family, and broken scrotums. He, uh…. has been on edge lately. I don't know. He's just – different. Don't see him with Rick much anymore; he's become a floater, like Daryl. Well, no—even Daryl has talked more than Shane has. Shane talks when there's something wrong, not general conversation over breakfast or dinner anymore. T tried blabbering with him, but Shane gobbled up his food and walked away. Don't know what's happening there.

It is cool to see the camp getting along better, for the most part. We don't have to watch our backs all the time and can enjoy the open space and new friends. Breathe natural air. Wash our faces. With soap. Drink koolaid. Use the bathroom in private, without the living or dead stalking you.

The reason we might be getting along lately is because we have some time apart. We're not smothering each other, all cramped up in an RV or huddled in a small shed, so like I said – space. I didn't really read what the others wrote in here, other than them signing their names. Carol wrote a novel. Knew she needed to get it out. I remember the poem Lori wrote down. Pretty awesome.

We're still searching the woods for little Sophia. I saw Daryl take off on his own today. T and I agreed he shouldn't do that but who are we to speak up and get our asses handed to us? The dude really wants to find Sophia. We're still waiting.

Lori trusted me with some.. information. I'm confused and conflicted over it. I just….

She's coming this way.

* * *

I wonder if I'm predisposed to harboring private information. Do I look like a lockbox? I didn't go to school to become a priest or a psychiatrist. A lady from church told me I have a face someone can trust. I'm thinking maybe I should walk around with a permanent scowl, like Shane or Daryl. Act big and bad so I won't be tortured like this. It's freaking agony.

When I was eighteen, I had this guy friend who was the same age as me but had a younger girlfriend; she was like 16 or something. They dated for a little bit, her parents approved of them, and things were cool. A switch flipped one day and soon nothing was going right. He talked me into driving him one night to the woods beside her house where they could meet and talk things over. I slow-rolled through the streets like I was in the hood. "Could you be more obvious?" he hissed at me. It was freaking cold outside; who in their right minds would meet in the woods?! I had to drive to McDonald's and wait for his text to pick him up. Twenty minutes later, I'm back on the road, trying to find his stupid ass, and I see a dark speck waving around in the field. He hustled into the car and told me to floor it. By the next morning, her mother had hunted us down, and I was threatened for aiding in seducing a minor or some legal crap. My mother found out, cursed the woman in both English and Korean, and that was it (after I got cursed too). I broke it off with the dude and vowed I wouldn't do that kind of shit again. Secrets are deadly and they get you in trouble. I hate them.

Just now, I managed to slink away from a very awkward conversation. Lori and Carol left to go to the Greene house. Heard something about them cooking a meal for everyone. I like chicken spaghetti and squash. They should have taken requests.

There's Maggie on the porch, the sun just sparkling off her skin and eyes. Well I can't see the eyes from here, but I bet they're buzzing. Gosh, I wish she would reconsider. She said she wouldn't get the 10 minutes we spent together back. What, did she have a timer or something I didn't know about? It felt like much longer to me, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I didn't hear her complaining! Moaning, 'yes' and 'over to the right, that's it, ohhhh' are compliments to me.

Boy, she has a fine ass.

I need to read a book or play the guitar. Think I'll do that until supper.


	16. Chapter 16

_End of "Chupacabra"_

* * *

Dale is one cool guy. I can't talk to anyone else about my female woes except him. I don't have a face one could trust; he does. Behind that gruffly beard lays a wise man for lost little souls like me. Dumb little souls. Dumb about the opposite sex.

So I approached him after reading for a little bit. I can't focus on anything for a long period of time. The book didn't engage me either but I didn't want to insult the guy. He's kind enough as it is letting us roam around his RV, borrowing things as we please. I asked Dale his honest opinion about women. I had this speech all prepared, but I went in the real stupid direction and added in—

"I read somewhere that when women gather in one place, their cycles sync. Is that true?" That was the condensed version, minus the stutter and brain spasms. Dale almost had his own spasm, especially with Andrea standing guard on top of the RV. If she heard it, I'm sure she just smiled. She's not the type to freak out over my weirdness.

And the conversation, as usual, went as south as we are. And we're very country. I thought Dale would understand, sympathize, but he gave me a good verbal whipping. I let it slip that Maggie and I…. uh…. Spent a little "time" together.

"What were you thinking, Glenn?"

Sometimes I come up with wise little gems myself. "I was thinking that tomorrow I might be dead."

He didn't argue, but I could tell he still didn't think it was a good idea. I scrambled out of the RV, embarrassed. I'm such a loser.

I wonder now, how my dad would've handled the idea of me having sex in the middle of a worldwide disaster. "I think you should have more important things in mind, Glenn, like, oh, I don't know: eating, finding a safe place, and knowing where to take a crap without getting bit? What were you thinking, son?"

That's where the difference lies between Dale and my dad. If I told my dad exactly what I told Dale, he would have still chastised me. Even though I huffed and puffed my way out of the RV, I was still very thankful for Dale. The best guy in this broken world.

* * *

Well, geek ears are in fashion. Ask Daryl "don't mistake me for a walker" Dixon. He came out of the forest dragging and limping, and Andrea shot at him. I said she doesn't freak out over anything? She did then. We all did. What in the hell did he do out there?!

But he found Sophia's doll. This changes everything. It really does.

They're calling everyone to dinner now. I don't know how they're going to fit everyone at the dinner table. I'm not eating at a kids table. I had to do that at all of the holidays, and the kids threw mashed potatoes at me and kept showing me their 'see food'. They always ate all the pudding, too. Ugh.

* * *

Yep, they put me, Jimmy, Beth, and Maggie at the kids table. I was okay with it because of Maggie. I was really tired and nervous from all of the silence during dinner so I asked if anyone knew how to play guitar.

"Otis did," Patricia whimpered.

That didn't go as planned.

Maggie slipped me a note under the table. I felt like a million bucks after reading it. I thought since she's a sexy cowgirl, we could literally roll in the hay. I felt so smooth.

But oh, the feeling didn't last. No, I learned another terrible ….. fact tonight. I can't believe this shit. I just can't believe it.

* * *

06:00: Barn is quiet.

06:10: Nothing around the barn. Carol is cooking breakfast. I can hear the dishes clinking behind me.

06:15: It's starting to get a little chilly in the mornings. I saw Maggie walking to the chicken coop.

06:45: Shit, I fell back to sleep in my chair. Carol kept telling me to eat before the food gets cold. Nothing like frigid powdered eggs to get you going.

07:00: Sun is beaming down on the barn. I remember the awful, putrid smell. That kills a sex drive instantly.

07:10: Maggie brought peaches and asked if I could be more obvious. I've heard that before. Argued with her.

I can't do this. I just can't do it. I was the last one in my family to believe there was no Santa, no Easter bunny, or gargoyles. When Daryl told us about the chupacabra, I believed him. There are some crazy creatures on this Earth! Look at what's happening now!

They'll notice I'm acting funny. Funnier than usual, I mean. They're huddled by the Cherokee, going over plans to look for Sophia. I'll give them peaches. Yeah. That way I can avoid looking them in the eyes.

Deep breath, Glenn. You're a man now. No stupid kid stuff.

* * *

Carl has really bounced back from his gun wound. I knew that kid would come through. He's just like Rick, and they're both thick as lizard skin. I bet they were reptiles in their previous lives. T and I got a kick out of Carl gushing about going out to the shooting range today. The kid is a sharp shooter. I better get back out there and brush up on my skills. Ain't no way I'm letting that kid out-shoot me. I'm too competitive sometimes. My cousin and I fought over video games when we were kids, and I lassoed the game controller around his neck and put a nice blister on his lips. Then I got my ass beaten by Dad after I punched my cousin through the blanket and gave him a bloody nose. I'm a straight shot. Bam.

* * *

I couldn't hold it in anymore. The look on Dale's face when I blurted out about Lori being pregnant and the walkers in the barn. Maggie's still pissed at me. What's new?


	17. Chapter 17

_Middle of "Secrets"_

* * *

There's no way to describe and document this day without making up a story explaining the events. Here goes:

Little Roach and Ladybug hopped the Great Sandy Horses and glided their way to Pharmaceutical Palace. They did not talk much on their journey, for Ladybug had troubles on her mind, and Little Roach was one of them. Little Roach's mouth would not close, for he cared about Miss Ladybug and the way she thought of him.

"Speak, my lady," he asked, leaping off the Great Horse and nearly getting his foot caught in the stirrup. She exercised silence, and Little Roach grew sadder as the minutes crawled. They entered the palace with such a large space between them. Ladybug headed straight to the back of the palace and sorted through the White Bottles.

Little Roach opened his document of requests, given to him by the ill-fallen Queen. His queen was counting on the healing Bottles and their safe return.

A terrible shriek rumbled where Ladybug was standing, and Little Roach armed himself against the frightening Daisy Pushers, ripping off part of a shelf and blazing to Ladybug's rescue. His force behind the attack subdued the monster, unhinging its head from its threatening shoulders. It thumped on the ground, no longer a danger and silent.

Frightened, Ladybug embraced Little Roach, letting all of her anger against him die with the beast. He was relieved of her safety after learning that she had not been bitten or clawed by the Pusher.

Ladybug cried again, as the beast reanimated and dove into another attack. Little Roach's trusty machete ejected from his side and impaled itself in the Pusher's head, finally giving them permanent peace.

When they returned to the honey fields where their family rested, Ladybug jumped from her Horse; she was now angry over a different matter and approached the Queen's haven in a mighty rush. She threw the Bottles at the Queen's feet, hissed how displeased she was over their journey to find the Queen's questionable treasures. The Queen stared at the spectacle in silence.

Perturbed, Little Roach chased after Ladybug, demanding to know why she was doing such an act against someone. At a loss for words to say, Ladybug reached for her beloved and kissed him passionately, holding him as close to her as she could, cupping his little face in her grasp. "For a smart guy, you're really dumb," she said, her gaze piercing through him.

Very puzzled, Little Roach couldn't respond to her retort, or was it a compliment? As she walked away, Ladybug professed she did not want to lose him, after all that she has lost so far.

* * *

I know that was cheesy, but I couldn't make sense of it. I told Andrea I would take over watch and let the sun bake my head; that's all it's good for anyways.

After Maggie left, I apologized to Lori. It hurts me so much she wants to kill hope before it gets started. I got the stuff she wanted, but I picked up a little something extra in case she changes her mind. Maybe that gesture will actually be the one thing that gives her a different perspective. She shouldn't make it alone, and I told her that. Women are very complicated, but I'm sure we don't make it any easier.

I have a big decision to make too, and it's mine alone. Tomorrow morning. I'm going to do it.


	18. Chapter 18

"_Pretty Much Dead Already"_

* * *

The news I shared this morning went about as well as I expected. I spit it out over breakfast, told them firmly that the barn was full of walkers. We ran to the barn as soon as I revealed the news. I stayed a ways back from it. Shane was the one who took a peek through a hole in the door. I definitely wasn't seeing things the night I found out. They were there, all right.

Lots of emotions stirred in the dirt under our feet. Shane really just…. doesn't think Sophia is alive anymore. That got most of us upset, especially Daryl, Rick, and Carol. How can he be so cold sometimes? Damn, even Daryl stops at a certain point. Daryl and Shane butt heads, and it was hard to stop them from having a schoolyard fight in front of the barn. I bet we all looked pretty stupid from the farm house. I know I shouldn't say that. It's a pretty serious situation. Couldn't we solve this a better way?

And after all that, I approached Maggie at the chicken coop. No words again. Then, she smashed a perfectly good egg on my head. I didn't fly into a rage because I was used to my sisters poking fun and picking at me. Even with being so sassy and pissed, Maggie was still sexy to me. Too bad I was far from sexy at that moment, betraying her trust and trying not to let my tongue taste the yolk on my face. I hope I don't get salmonella.

I wandered the yard and fields, I mean really wandered. I forgot where I was at one point and almost washed my head with the well water that's full of walker guts. I don't even remember walking back to the house and running the cold water over my head. It felt good from the merciless Georgia sun. Helped me calm down and wobble my way to the RV and take watch. It wouldn't take long for me to dry.

It sucked I didn't have my hat; you need those things during the summer. Dale was awesome and threw me his hat; I totally didn't mean for him to do that. Wearing his hat made me think I was him a little bit, making me feel a little better about everything being so shit.

He and Andrea are arguing in the RV now. I'm trying not to pay attention to what they're saying, but I can tell he's not too sure about Shane, like I am. I'm not good at putting my feelings into words, or explaining why I feel the way I feel. Got a case of déjà vu there. I'm sure I've written that before. Typical me.

Better ask Dale how he's doing. He always does that for me.

* * *

I've been out here for two hours. I'm lucky to be of Asian descent where I go bronze instead of lobster red. Too bad I sweat like everyone else. My armpits are moist and sweat is just trickling down my sides. I hate that feeling.

I need to get Maggie to understand things from my perspective. It's imperative for her to understand why I did what I did. She's been sheltered on this farm, her whole family, and they haven't seen the major threat in the big cities and never having a place to call home anymore. I can't blame her for wanting to stay unaware, but that's dangerous. You can't have a building full of walkers, even if they used to be your loved ones, and blissfully sleep yards from it. We can't do that, and if we're going to stay here, we have to kill that threat.

It might be a good idea to move on. Go through the woods on the search for Sophia and find another safe haven. It's been so nice here. I'll miss it.

I have bad feelings all the time, but this one is percolating my stomach. I don't have the time and patience to be writing in here now.

Maggie is coming up the driveway. I also don't have the patience to keep my mouth shut any longer when it comes to her either.


	19. Chapter 19

_End of "Pretty Much Dead Already" into "Nebraska"_

* * *

When I write in here, I feel like I sound so smart, intuitive, and thoughtful. Manly. Adult. I don't go back and re-read anything, maybe a couple of times when I was really bored or needed to remember something. Mostly to validate my existence outside of getting eggs smashed on my head or somebody saying I don't understand anything. Like Shane, who reminds me every day. Dale took off somewhere earlier, and Shane disappeared behind him. When Shane stomped up the driveway with the bag of guns, it stirred everybody's sweaty feathers. Rick told us as soon as we started living here, there would be no guns allowed on the grounds, per Herschel. Shane didn't either get the notice, or, as I figured, didn't care.

But what he did, riling everyone up and demanding something be done about the barn walkers found the answer we've been looking for a long time. Maggie was scared; I was probably more frightened than her, I couldn't even talk through my heart pounding in my chest. Herschel, Jimmy, and Rick brought walkers on snare poles from the forest, and what on earth for, I haven't a clue. Things just got weirder.

And then they got sadder. Devastating. We unleashed our bullets through all of the walkers in the barn, gunned down what used to be Maggie's family and friends. They all looked on in horror.

And our Sophia, she was the last one to step out of the barn.

None of this impressed Herschel, of course. We massacred his family, totally creating a graveyard in front of his barn, and then tempers flew high. Shane accused Herschel of knowing Sophia was in the barn all along. I was real afraid it was going to turn ugly, and it almost did when Maggie slapped Shane and told him to stay away from Herschel. I threw myself between them before Maggie got hurt. He can call me names and push me all day, but he will not hit her.

While everyone else wanted to scream, I sat with Maggie in her livingroom, opting instead for a calmer discussion. Everything I wrote in the previous entry, I told her. Said about moving on now that Sophia was found. Maggie looked heartbroken at the news. It amazed me that she wasn't crying for her dead stepmother and brother, but for the fact that I will probably be leaving.

Gotta say that made me a little happy after such a frightening day. I feel a little guilty for that.

* * *

I came back to the camp to gather myself for a little bit. Passed the RV, saw Carol and Daryl in there. I didn't hear anything coming from it. We cared for Sophia and cared about finding her alive, most of all. Seems like Daryl really stood up to the plate and kept the search going for her when the rest of us focused on other things…. on other people for the time. I guess I moved on sooner than most.

Daryl left the RV in a hurry. I never can tell when he's grumpy or not, but I think he was pretty upset. He stomped out like my dad used to whenever Mom really cheesed him off. They didn't hate each other, even when they separated. Relationships are complicated; I can see why facebook had a special option for it. If we all had facebooks, our relationship statuses would definitely be complicated, and I'd name mine Glenn "Walker Bait" Rhee. All I did with mine was post what I was listening to and whatever was happening on Buzzfeed. I can see T-Dog sharing funny pictures and Dale posting social and political commentaries and articles, and Lori looks like she loves animals and would post a bazillion photos. Carol would be a big Pinterest user. I saw a picture one time of a dog that hadn't been groomed for 10 years. Looked like a mammoth/octopus hybrid. I don't think you could see its eyes.

Carol just came out of the RV, walked in the opposite direction, towards the forest. I guess she isn't going down to the barn where we're burying Sophia and the Greene family. It's not my place to question why she won't go. Doesn't she need a little closure?

I can already smell the fire in the air, and they haven't even started burning yet.

* * *

I read Carol's entry. Yeah, she knew Sophia was gone before all of us did.

I think I've sat here long enough. My legs and arms are hurting, and I've got some shoveling to do.


	20. Chapter 20

_Middle of "Nebraska" to "Triggerfinger"_

_A special treat from this one is that Randall's rescue is explored a little more, what wasn't show on screen. Enjoy._

* * *

The one time I went to the shooting range was with my dad when I was seventeen. I can't tell you what kind of gun I had; they all shoot bullets as far as I'm concerned, but Dad knew what kind of gun would fit snugly in my grip. He told me, but I can't remember. He was a really good shot. I bet he's doing okay out there right now because he was a jumpy little man to the point of paranoia. If someone farted in the next county, he would know.

I was so nervous that day, like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and Dad could sense every bit of it. We had our protection over our ears so all I could see was his mouth moving. He finally just took me by the hands and guided me. My knees buckled and I squinted down the firing range. After a few moments of hesitation, I pulled the trigger. No idea if I hit the target. Dad wanted me to keep going without his guidance. A few more rounds fired out of the chamber and I was gaining more confidence with each shot. I wasn't half bad!

Then something hot singed my neck. Felt like a fricking bee sting, and I did this wiggle and lowered my gun. The sensation danced across my chest, rolled across my stomach, and very nearly journeyed past my belt line, but I stopped it in time. I raked a steaming, tiny casing out of my shirt and spasmed near the entrance. I still couldn't hear my dad but he was holding his sides and laughing. When I got home, Mom roared at me about the "hickey" on my neck and swore that Dad dropped me off at some girl's house instead of going to the range. She should know about accidents. She burned me a few times with the curling iron!

* * *

Herschel left the farm without telling anyone. After my talk with Maggie (which seem to have gone well), Beth collapsed in the kitchen and became unresponsive. This was pretty damn bad, and we needed Herschel.

Rick's eyes are getting darker and darker, and desperate too. He whispered for me to walk with him in the kitchen. Maggie was just out of earshot.

"I need someone to go with me to town." His voice was hoarse, but steady, "Are you in?"

Why was he asking me? What about Shane or Daryl? Rick looked like he needed an answer pretty quick so I gulped out, "Sure. I'll- I'll be right there." He nodded and walked out of the room.

Maggie has ears like a dog. Her boots clapped across the floor, letting me know how frustrated she was. "So you're going?"

"Yeah, he's counting on me," I said, pushing a clump of her hair behind her ear. "We need to find your dad. It's dangerous to be out there alone."

She also has telepathic powers. "Why can't he take Shane or Daryl?"

I sighed and darted my eyes across the room; it was hard to look at her. Rick has always relied on me, and I trust him, too.

"Fine," she grew aggravated from my silence and walked away. I was ready to run after her, but she returned with my shotgun and wore a thin smile. "When Daddy used to drink, he got pretty fired up but he didn't mean any harm. He's just hurting. Be good to him."

She trailed behind me as I left the house and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. It sucked leaving her just as we were talking good again.

The car ride to town allowed me and Rick to talk, but I didn't mean to talk as much as I did. He was the only one around and he's a smart guy, too. Not that any of the other men are dumb, but I can't exactly talk about Maggie to Shane or Daryl. I made the mistake one time of asking Daryl how he handled his girl troubles, and he asked me if I wanted to be target practice. "That's none of your stupid business, Short Round! I ain't your best buddy. Write in your stupid diary." That was old Daryl. New Daryl might omit the 'best buddy' comment and call me an insect name instead.

To my surprise, Rick understood why I helped Lori without telling him. I had a feeling they talked about the pregnancy since they spent a long time walking the fields yesterday evening and I heard her sobbing through the night.

We found Herschel in the bar, and Maggie was right on the head: he was really depressed, angry, and – as we soon found out – hopeless. All of us lived our normal lives with our marshmallows, late night tv, and hot showers so we weren't equipped, ready for something like this. Months have gone by, and the Greene family has continued on with a few incidents here and there that mostly Otis handled, if I've got that right. I've felt hopeless. I've felt angry and in despair. Somehow I bounce back, and it's thanks to the brave people who have given me a safe haven and would die to protect it.

Herschel just needed reminding that people are counting on him. There is no room to feel sorry for yourself and stop living. I think Rick made that perfectly clear.

Two guys walked in the bar. I wish I had a joke here to tell, but literally two guys walked in the bar, named Dave and Tony. They were really cool, telling us about traveling from the north and a rumor that ferries were loading people and sailing to islands. I hadn't thought about that! I was pretty stoked to see new people and hear how they've been surviving so far, but I appeared to be the only one impressed. Herschel didn't say much, and Rick chose his words carefully. _Oh, boy_. There goes my naiveté slipping away from me. What were they seeing that I wasn't?

I remember being disgusted by some cousins that married into the family because they urinated in whatever part of the yard was available during the day and had fewer teeth than an eight month old baby. We played hide and seek, and one took a leak in the bushes and then whined because we didn't tell him the game was still going and he had to run around the yard with his pecker hanging out.

For whatever reason unknown to anything, Tony unloaded his bladder right there in the bar, as if it didn't already smell nice enough in there. "City kids, they have no tact," Dave sighed. And so I finally saw what Rick and Herschel already knew, and I was just as disgusted. All of us back on the farm have manners despite the walking dead biting at our heels.

Dave and Tony insisted on knowing more about the farm and how they could wiggle in and plant their butts on it. Rick wouldn't budge, and things turned crazy ugly. I've known Rick all these months, spent so much time with him, and he still surprises me. The moment he killed Dave and Tony, I couldn't look at him. I don't despise what he did, but man, it flipped my hair. We were just supposed to drag Herschel from the bar, an easy peasy assignment, and head back! Yeah, right.

Some dudes came looking for Dave and Tony, and we holed up in the bar, clutching our guns. They tried talking to us and started opening the door, but I pushed it back on them. Don't ask me why I did it. Rick was exasperated by what I did, but I didn't know what else to do; I knew I screwed up. They were screaming and threatening, and all I thought about was Maggie. Would she miss me? How much did she really care? Would she even care if I was gone? Could she survive, especially after the way she handled the walker attack at the pharmacy?

All of those questions raced through my mind many times as Herschel and Rick counted on me to crawl to the back of the bar and cover for them. Hell, I almost shot Herschel coming up behind me. The gun was slipping from my sweaty hands and I couldn't hear anything but the guns and this fervent thumping in my chest. I barely heard the shot that almost ended my life. It drove me to land behind a dumpster and completely freeze. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. Maggie Greene: those sweet, captivating green eyes and teasing little smile; her perfect teeth and elegant neck, and her touch that drives me bananas. I can't get enough of her even when I'm just inches from her face.

Losing her scares me more than facing a field full of walkers. It consumed me during that moment behind the dumpster, and I barely heard Herschel and Rick calling for me. I swallowed the biggest lump in my throat I've ever had and jumped back to reality, a horrible one that had us facing bazillion walkers in the darkness and hearing the sounds of those men leaving their companions behind to face a grueling death. One certainly didn't make it; they ate him in the field. The second guy tried jumping off the roof and impaled his leg through the fence. I can still feel my leg throbbing over that.

But, honestly, we didn't have time to care. Rick wanted to save the poor agonizing boy, but dammit, we had danger at every turn. My throat hurts from screaming at them, and I didn't have an unlimited supply of bullets. Herschel started operating on the guy, but Rick pulled out his guerilla medicine degree and pushed the boy's leg right out of the fence when the clock ran out. My whole body hurts from that now.

Herschel and I dragged the boy to the truck, but a walker crashed into me and I used the butt of my damn gun to push it away. Rick and Herschel screamed for my name over and over to get in the stupid truck, like I wasn't going to do that anyway. I dove into the backseat on top of the injured boy, door wide open, as Rick floored it, almost bucking back me out into the herd.

"Shut the door, man! Shut the door!" the boy crowed, grabbing a good heap of my shirt and pulling me back.

I elbowed him in the stomach and felt the open road noise die as I slammed the door. "Get off me!" I pushed him to the other side of the truck. "Stay over there and be quiet! BE QUIET!"

"Why, why would they leave me like that?" he squirmed, clutching his bleeding leg and rolling his head against the window. "Man, maybe they didn't hear me, right? They just had to go, I guess. I guess…" he sobbed into the door and thumped his head against it in a small bout of fury. He managed to lock the door with his forehead.

"Because they're assholes and they didn't care." I barely had the energy to speak and from shaking so much.

"Glenn," Herschel turned his head, "I have a black handkerchief behind you. It's there somewhere, but put it over his eyes. Don't need him to know where he's going." He gave a short look at Rick and sat back in his seat.

"No, man, please don't do that! Please!" He clawed and scratched at me, whining, sobbing, and spitting everywhere. I got tired of that stupid struggle and thumped his injured leg. I rummaged behind the seat and found what we needed and shielded his eyes with the grace of a polar bear. It was a long ride back to the farm, and this bozo wailed and smashed his head into the seats and scratched me AGAIN.

"Glenn, do something!" Rick roared over the pandemonium and slammed his hands against the wheel. My last ditch effort, I grabbed the boy's chin, mashing his cheeks and folding up his lips to his nose, and silently winced at touching his saliva and snot.

"What's your name?" I whistled through clenched teeth.

"R-Randall," he blubbered and swallowed.

"Okay, Randall, if you want to live, do what we say. We saved your ass when your buddies didn't. You mean nothing to us so unless you want us to dump you on the side of the road, you'll clench that leg of yours and kindly shut the hell up."

He nodded, snot popping from his nose, and he did as we ordered him: he whimpered into the door, squeezing his thighs in pain, and thankfully just passed out. I don't remember thinking about anyone or anything. Just wanted to get back here and dreaded seeing the others' faces when they see the new guest.


	21. Chapter 21

_End of "Triggerfinger" to "18 Miles Out"_

_Yes, I was being tongue-in-cheek with the T-Dog segment. You know it's true he's never there._

* * *

Maggie told me she loved me, right before Rick and I left to find Herschel. I can't wrap my head around it. I've never had that happen to me before, except for Mom and my sisters. Rick told me that Maggie understands what she said to me because I thought she was a little blind to the matter. We haven't been together that long, and most of the time, I'm helping Rick and the others, or Carl with his homework, or chores with T and Carol. I'm not all that sure romantic love is such a good idea in this world; it could make you weak, or you could lose it before it begins. Those three words haven't touched my brain. I remember hearing women usually say it way before men do. We're slow, and very careful. Not to say women aren't that way, but I wish they could understand it takes longer for us to process things. I've always been a patient guy, and Mom taught me that good things come to those who wait.

But… waiting is almost an extinct word now, isn't it? At least when it comes to relationships in general. You're waiting to get bitten, waiting to be surprised… waiting to die.

Geez, I hate when I do that. I've been doing it more, too. It's even harder to deal when a pretty farmer's daughter races into your arms upon your return. She passed by her dad like he was a tree. I couldn't bring myself to return her bear hug; I just gave her a light hug, and she knew something was wrong. Observant, sweet Maggie.

The farm didn't care for us to bringing Randall home at all; they detested it, especially Shane, and if I knew I could handle an argument with someone, I would voice my opinion, but my time has passed. I should have kicked Randall out the door and said he fell out of the truck. But I just can't do that to Rick, and I'm having a hard time understanding why I feel this way as it is.

There was much debate over the matter with nothing really resolved by the end of the meeting. Shane was told by Herschel to keep his mouth shut, and Shane promptly left. That was the sign for everyone to disperse and go back to what they were doing before, and now with another problem weighing heavily on their minds. Maggie caught up with me before I could walk out of the house. I unleashed on her. Everything I wrote in here. I didn't hold back. She was confused and in pain, her whole face falling as every stupid, heartfelt word dropped out of my mouth.

"They were counting on me, and all I could think about was you."

I left her side, feeling as heartbroken as she was. I needed a little space to clear my head.

* * *

Randall was awake when we got up this morning. Carol and Patricia fed him some soup, and I've mostly avoided the house in general. Maggie has given me space, and I haven't really seen her around the porch or walking around the yard.

Carol said Randall is scared out of his mind and hopes he doesn't tick off the "Chinese kid" again.

"I told him you were Korean and that he should probably just be quiet for the time being," she said while hanging up the clothes. I gave her a hand with them.

"He runs his mouth too much," I grumbled and dropped someone's underwear in the dirt. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Carol." I held it up to her.

She dusted it off and put it back on the line. "It's Shane's anyways," she said with a cute smirk, and we had a chuckle just before Shane passed by us and threw a harsh look in our direction.

When he was out of sight, I cleared my throat and handed Carol the next piece of clothing. "So, uh, Carol…" I paused, fumbling with Carl's gray shirt, "how do you make up with a woman? I mean, if you were a man? If you know what I mean? Do I make sense? I don't think I do. I—I have troubles keeping up with my brain. Sorry." I picked up the empty laundry basket and walked away, but her tiny, motherly voice called for me.

"Just say you're sorry."

I looked back at her, and her smile was reassuring. "That's all, Glenn. That's enough." She turned back to the laundry on the line, dusted them off, and headed back to her tent.

Okay, I'll try that. I might screw it up, but I'll try.

* * *

Three days now. I suck at communicating and any form of socialization. I'm so scared of seeing Maggie's sad face again. It worries me I can nearly kill a man by pushing him out of a moving truck than facing my girlfriend. Maggie would forgive me; can I forgive myself?

Carl left his math book open and I got curious if I could answer the questions. It took me an hour to answer the first one, and he had a whole five pages full of notes and equations, and he worked on it for maybe three-four hours that day. I'm not a quitter! I cracked my brain figuring out all twenty questions and by nightfall, I got it done.

I had started at noon.

* * *

Today is the day I'll confront Maggie. I saw her flittering around the horses' stable and down to the barn. I love the way she walks, a little bounce to her step and swag from her boots. I dreamed last night we shipwrecked on an island and lived off coconuts and peaches, and we refused to be rescued and made sweet love on the beach every night and eventually we had a bazillion kids because we couldn't keep our hands off each other, but I never saw the kids, just knew that we had them. She still looked so sexy, from birthing kids to building a house to stalking an animal for dinner. Jungle Girl Maggie. I'm not worthy to be her Tarzan yet! Ooga ooga me Glenn need to stop being rock brain and ooga ooga with jungle maiden.

T-dog finished drawing a comic about all of this mess, and I looked like a giraffe with a serious need to poop. I have no idea what Rick was supposed to be; Daryl and Shane were these walking beef brick houses; Carl and Lori were cats… I think; Carol was a squirrel, Andrea a goat, and Dale looked the same. T said Dale reminded him of the old guy from Jurassic Park so the comic had walking dead dinosaurs. The T-rex looked like a dog with a tank rammed down its throat.

"Say, where are you?" I pointed out, skimming over the panels of Constipated Giraffe Me fighting off a ship of undead pirates, or jelly beans with eye patches, I think.

"I haven't written me in yet. It's too much fun writing about all of you!" He went back to scribbling in Carl's notebook with these huge stars in his eyes. I didn't want to disturb him anymore, or ask him to put Pierre the Porcupine in there for Andrea. There was already enough chaos in it.

* * *

Randall was crammed in the trunk of the car with headphones in his ears and a shield over his eyes. Rick and Shane are driving him eighteen miles out and cutting him loose. My grandpa used to do that with his dogs.

I found Maggie in the house with Beth, who isn't recovering too well from her shock. Maggie didn't even hear me walk in the room. She did this kind of gasp when she finally turned and saw me. I guess she had that feeling when someone is standing behind you. Beth was sitting up in the bed, looking into the far distance out the window. She didn't even blink.

"How-how is she?" My eyes fell to the ground for a moment.

Maggie nodded, gently stroking Beth's arm. "I don't know. Still a little shook up. She'll make it." She peered back at her sister and took a deep breath. "What about you? I haven't seen you out in the yard very much."

"No, I've just been, uh—helping with chores and on guard mostly. I – I didn't mean to just disappear. I just needed to—"

"You wanna go for a walk?" she blurted, staring a kind hole through me. She smiled for the first time in a while.

"You wanna walk with me, even after how I treated you?"

She scoffed and leaned over to give a Beth a kiss on the forehead. Maggie was standing in front of me before I could finish swallowing a tight lump in my throat. "You get a free pass, geek rat. I can't stay mad at you for long," and planted a quick kiss on my lips. The angels were singing and I followed her out the door like a puppy. I almost plowed through the screen door.

There was something a little different about Maggie as we walked along the fence to the front gate. We actually didn't do a lot of talking. I know that when I open my mouth, words don't form, just a wave of ignorance, hence the nickname 'Babo'. I should tell her about that nickname instead of her crying walker bait. I don't know. Maybe not. Walker Bait makes me think of Maggie. It's very her. Babo belongs to my mom and the old life. It's essential to move forward in life, especially this one, and not dwell on it.

"Did you want to try the barn again?" she teased, brushing across my arm and shining a cheeky grin, bright enough to see through the sun's coarse rays. God, so cute.

"I – I guess. Really?"

"Why would I ask you if I didn't want to?"

I dug my hands in my pockets and shrugged. "So, we've made up, right? No more awkward silence and frowns?"

She chuckled, snaking her arm through mine and leaning her head into the crook of my neck. I absolutely love the way she feels against me. "Is it so hard for you to accept that I like you? Couples will fight sometimes. That's why God invented make-up sex."

We laughed so loud, we scared the birds out of a nearby tree and alarmed a horse in the distance. I liked it that she didn't push the 'love' conversation on me although I wanted to clumsily bring it up. I'm glad I didn't. What we have between us is pretty special.

I'll catch up with her someday.

A woman's voice crowed behind us, and when we turned to check it out, Lori was trying to catch up to us. She was out of breath and pleaded with Maggie to follow her back to the house.

* * *

Ohhhh, things are so shit right now (when did it ever stop?). Beth had cut herself with pieces of a mirror in Andrea's care, and Maggie refused to let Andrea back in the house. I don't really know what's going on. I wanted to go to the house, but T-Dog and Carol thought it best if I stayed put and let them handle their family affairs.

Rick and Shane returned with fresh cuts and bruises all over their faces, and immediately they went their separate ways, obviously fuming and glaring at each other; more so Rick than Shane.

And they dragged a sobbing Randall out of the trunk. What in the hell went wrong?


End file.
